


Felix Culpa

by sodium_amytal



Category: Rush (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domesticity, Drama, Established Relationship, M/M, non-con/dub-con recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-10 07:47:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11122881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodium_amytal/pseuds/sodium_amytal
Summary: AU. 1990. Fifteen years have passed since hotshot rock guitarist Alex slept with a groupie while on tour. Fifteen years of hiding a dark and shameful secret from his steadfast partner, Neil. Now, that groupie shows up bearing life-shattering news: Alex is the father of her fourteen-year-old son, Justin, who needs a kidney transplant from a blood match. Despite her sudden reappearance in his life tearing open old wounds, Alex feels a responsibility to the boy, and as his relationship with Justin develops, his own marriage begins to fall apart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Felix culpa_ : Latin; an apparent mistake or disaster that actually ends up having surprisingly beneficial consequences.

_"For every good reason there is to lie, there is a better reason to tell the truth."_ ~ Bo Bennett

* * *

 

"You don't have to come."

"I know. But this is a big honor, and I want to support you."

Alex looks at Neil's reflection, head perched above his own in the bathroom mirror as he buttons his suit jacket. "You'll hate it. There's gonna be lots of people there. And they're probably gonna wanna talk to you and"—Alex feigns a gasp—"take pictures. A first-rate Neil Peart nightmare."

Neil smiles and winds his arms around Alex's waist. "I think they'll be more interested in you, Mr. Hall of Fame Guitarist."

Alex putters an amused sigh between his lips, spinning so he's facing Neil. "Sometimes it's tiring being so wonderful."

Along with the two other members of his band, Rush, Alex is being awarded a spot in the Juno Hall of Fame tonight, bestowed with one of the most prestigious awards in Canadian music.

"You look amazing," Neil says with reverence, eyeing Alex in a way that makes his skin hot. "I could show up naked and no one would even notice me."

Alex grins. "Ooh."

Neil huffs a laugh and tugs Alex's lapels, crushing their mouths together. Kissing Neil is still as electric and all-encompassing as it was the first time. Alex moans into Neil's mouth, fingers clutching the front of his crisp white shirt.

"Don't wind me up unless you're gonna follow through," Alex warns him while Neil kisses along his jawline. "It's rude."

Neil knows exactly what he's doing, which explains the wry curve of his mouth as he nibbles Alex's earlobe. "We have thirty minutes; let's make them count," Neil murmurs, and Alex drags him to the bed before he's finished his sentence.

* * *

The O'Keefe Centre buzzes with commotion and excitement. Almost as soon as Alex and Neil step inside the main hall, they're ambushed by a bright-faced Geddy, who pulls Alex in for a hug. "Lerxst!" Geddy cheers, and suddenly they're teenagers again, reunited after a long summer vacation.

"It's really over, huh?" Alex says, trying to disguise the disappointment in his voice.

"Every ending is also a beginning. We just don't know it yet."

Alex didn't want the band to retire, but Geddy grew too busy with an expanding family he rarely saw due to Rush's touring schedule, and John's health problems became too cumbersome to treat while on the road. Their concerns were presented, Alex was outvoted, and Rush dissolved almost as mutually as it began. Alex didn't think it was appropriate to recast the band's drummer, bassist, and vocalist and continue on as a poor man's version of what once was, so the band officially called it quits at the beginning of the year. But if he'd known the end was near during their last tour, he wouldn't have taken the time for granted.

Geddy looks at Neil. "How's the book?"

Neil smiles, tight and gracious. "Coming along nicely." Neil is a writer, specifically nonfiction. His upcoming book chronicles his travels across Africa while Alex was busy on tour. "Don't worry, you're still on the list for a signed copy."

Geddy exhales a tiny sigh of relief, as though he believed the dissolution of the band put him on Neil's shit list. "That's good news. I'll probably breeze through it in a day now that I have more free time." He chuckles.

Alex tries to return his mirth, but it falls flat. "Did John show up?"

Geddy looks around. "I saw him earlier. Don't know where he went off to."

They head deeper into the room. Impeccably-dressed waiters scurry about, carrying silver trays of champagne flutes and hors d'oeuvres. As Alex and Neil wade through the swirls of guests, Alex catches the eye of a few who beam at him with recognition. Alex returns their cheer, glancing back at Neil to see if he's at ease. There's a nervous set to Neil's mouth that Alex is very familiar with. Alex makes a goofy face to cheer him up; it works, but only slightly.

Neil breaks from the path Alex has set and heads toward the bar. Alex doesn't notice he's gone until he looks around and sees Neil ordering from the bartender.

"I told you you didn't have to come," Alex teases, taking the empty seat beside Neil.

"I'll be fine. I just need a drink."

The bartender pours Neil a small glass of sangria. Neil takes a long swallow, and Alex watches his throat move. His silver wedding band glistens on his third finger.

Neil sets the glass on a coaster. Alex leans in to murmur at his ear. "If you need a reason to stay: when we get home, I'll eat you out."

Neil chuckles. "Since when is that reserved for special occasions?"

"Fine, you pick something."

"Easier said than done. You have no boundaries."

Alex cocks an eyebrow and smirks. "You callin' me a slut, Pratt?"

"I'm not saying you're not," Neil says slyly around the rim of the glass.

"Count yourself lucky I'm only a slut for you."

"I do." Neil covers Alex's hand with his own, and Alex swoons.

"Hey, fucker," comes a familiar voice to Alex's right, and when he turns his head John's approaching them with a wide smile. He slaps Alex on the back. "How's it hangin'?"

"You'll have to ask Neil; I can't see it over my gut."

Neil appears to be thinking of a way to politely die in public.

John just laughs. "You're still disgusting. Good to know some things never change." He sits beside Alex, orders a rum and Diet Coke. After taking a drink, he notices the ring on Neil's finger. "You guys got married? And you didn't invite me? You cocksucker."

Alex smirks. "That's not really insulting to me. Just a job description."

Neil's face heats up, which usually happens when Alex acknowledges their sex life to another person.

"But you didn't miss anything," Alex says. "We're not officially married." He made the mistake of trying to ward off groupies without proof of marriage, and he paid dearly for it. So after that fateful night during the band's '75 tour, Alex bought himself a wedding band, a silver crucifix against the dolled-up vampires thirsty for his blood. And then he had the gall to pretend he'd done it to protect the integrity of his then-fledgling relationship with Neil.

He bought one for Neil last year during Rush's short-lived Presto tour. There was far less guilt involved with that purchase, instead replaced with high hopes for their future.

"You'll call me when you tie the knot for real?" John says.

Alex rubs the back of his neck underneath his long, thinning hair. "Sure, but we're not really big on ceremony."

"So why are you here?"

"'Cause it'd be rude not to show up. And it's already paid for."

A little while later, the ceremony begins. Alex sits in the front row with Neil and his bandmates. Under the dim lights, Geddy and his wife Nancy murmur about the new baby they've clearly delegated to a sitter this evening, and John and Eva talk about their daughter's upcoming dance recital, and Alex smiles to himself, wishing he could be them.

Alex and Neil decided not to have children from the get-go; Alex was too busy with the band to properly raise a child, and Neil too engrossed in traveling and writing. But that was then. This is now, and Alex is, for all intents and purposes, unemployed. He has the time, and he has tons of money from their last few tours, as well as residuals trickling in from record sales, and the steadily-multiplying figures in his savings account.

He would be a great dad, he thinks. Neil could be the stern yet loving father who helps the kids with their homework and imparts poignant wisdom, while Alex could be the fun dad who teaches his son how to play guitar and fix things around the house, and spoils the hell out of his daughter with toys and clothes and shows her how to make colorful cakes that crush the opposition in her school's bake sales.

Would Neil be amenable to having children now that their circumstances have changed? Alex is afraid to ask, because he thinks Neil will just say Alex is bored now that he doesn't have a project and suggest something lame to sink his time into like learning yoga or ceramics. Big fucking yawn.

Throughout the night, the other honorees are awarded, but Alex's thoughts are caught up in a whirl of images depicting this new fantasy life he's created for himself and Neil. He thinks about sending his imaginary kids to school, scheduling playdates, the secretive excitement of wrapping and hiding Christmas presents, celebrating birthdays with ice cream cakes, spending Saturday mornings with them eating sugary cereals and watching ThunderCats and Ninja Turtles.

Then Neil's elbowing him gently in the side, and Geddy and John are up and moving. Alex scurries out of his seat and joins them on stage. Geddy does most of the talking, since he's the one most comfortable being behind a microphone.

"It's an honor to be here tonight," Geddy says, shy and polite. "The last fifteen years have been an incredible experience, and I'm so glad we got to share them with you. Thank you for supporting us and coming to our shows and making our time in Rush memorable and worthwhile. I, um, I told this to Lerxst earlier tonight: every ending is also a beginning, we just don't know it at the time. I'd like to think that's true." Geddy looks at him. "Lerxst, want to say a few words?"

Panic rises in Alex's throat. He has not prepared a speech, and Geddy has already expressed everything he wants to say. He blinks at the sea of faces before him, his gaze snagging on Neil, who's watching him with quiet, subtle adoration.

"Uh, what he said."

The crowd laughs politely, and John adds, "Thank you all again. We're honored."

To applause, the three of them step out of the spotlight and off the stage. As they find their seats, the lights come up and the afterparty begins. A photographer grabs them and says, "Can we get one more set of pictures?"

Neil shoots Alex a 'see you later' smile and heads back to the bar.

After the pictures are taken, Alex is halfway to the bar when a female voice says, "Alex Lifeson?"

Alex turns, expecting another photographer or reporter. What he gets instead is a harrowingly familiar woman in an emerald green dress. The woman responsible for that horrible moment that visits Alex in his nightmares. Alex's face goes hot, and he stiffens, frozen like a deer caught in the headlights of an eighteen-wheeler.

She moves closer, possessing newfound timidity. Or maybe she has the good sense to know she's the last person he wants to see. "You probably don't remember me—"

_Think again._

"But, we, uh—I met you fifteen years ago. You played a good show."

"I remember." Alex does not, however, remember her name.

"Can we talk?" She holds up her hands as though warding off an argument. " _Just_ talk."

Alex glances over at Neil but looks away when Neil returns his gaze. He turns to the woman. "I don't have anything to say to you."

"It's important, Alex."

His jaw tightens at the sound of his name in her mouth. "Not to me."

"You don't even know what I—"

"It doesn't matter. What could be so important that you'd—What, did your husband dump you and you think I'd want—" Alex stops himself before his anger explodes.

"Please just listen to me," she begs. Something about her voice, the slight waver as though she's about to cry, tells Alex it might be important to listen.

"Fine."

She leads him to a small, unoccupied table near the corner of the room. He doesn't want to sit and make like they're on equal footing here, but it might seem out of place not to, and the less attention drawn to this, the better. Alex slides into the seat opposite her, arms folded over his chest in defiance. "It's been so long; you'll have to remind me what your name is."

"Charlene."

Ah, there it is. It had been banging around the edges of his brain, a vague association he couldn't quite place, or didn't want to. Hearing it now strikes him like a bolt of electricity, and he feels his heart flutter in his chest. But it's far from the giddy sputter when Neil touches him or breathes hot on his skin. This is a fear pulse, a primal spike in the face of danger.

"I see you got married," Charlene says, attempting small talk. "Is she here?"

" _He's_ at the bar."

Charlene's eyes widen, and she casts a quick glance at Neil, who's downing a glass of something clear. "Did I turn you gay?"

Alex scowls. "I was always gay." He just hadn't wanted to be.

Charlene looks like she wants to poke at that but wisely chooses not to. "I don't quite know how to tell you this," she starts, nervously wringing her hands. "But... my son Justin is dying. One of his kidneys is failing."

Alex almost feels like a dick for resenting her.

"He's an only child, so me and my husband were the closest familial matches." Charlene chews her lower lip, hesitating. Alex notes her fingers are devoid of any rings signifying marital status. "But Justin's blood type is incompatible with ours."

"So, what, you want me to help find a match?"

She looks at him. "You might be the match."

"How would you know that?"

"Justin is fourteen, Alex. Do the math."

For a second, everything is calm and still, his brain working through this in his head. Then it happens, and the contented life he's known is gone forever. The realization hits him like a suckerpunch, leaving him shaken and furious and confused.

"Bullshit," he spits out.

"He's your son, Alex. Trust me."

"Trust is not my first instinct when it comes to you," Alex snarls.

Charlene looks wounded. She knows she crossed a line with that one. "Why would I lie about this?"

"Oh, I can think of plenty of reasons. Money. Your husband dumped you and you don't want to be alone. Money, again. Maybe you're just a rotten person who doesn't give a shit who she hurts as long as she gets what she wants."

"I don't want your money. I'm not here to deceive you. I'm not a bad person."

Rage boils over in Alex's veins. "Oh, I beg to differ."

"Wait, wait. Please. I'm sorry. None of this is coming out right. I just—" Carefully, Charlene lifts her fingers to her cheeks and wipes away the tears. "You're Justin's last hope before relying on the donor registry, and God knows how long it'll take to find a match there. There's a waiting list a mile long."

"You can't possibly know this kid is mine," Alex says, voicing it out loud for the first time. "What about your husband? Were you with him when we... You were a groupie. You probably screwed plenty of other guys too."

Charlene shuts her eyes and draws in a breath, gathering her composure. "That's what I thought. I'd slept with Andrew more, so it was probably his. But a mother knows. He looks just like you, Alex."

The knot in Alex's stomach tightens.

Charlene reaches into the leather purse on her lap and digs around. Her hand emerges with a wallet-sized photograph, slides it across the table to Alex.

Alex looks at the photo. His diaphragm contracts, and his lungs stop. Then his heart. A cold gust blows over him, steel bands wrapping around his chest like a vise. The boy's face is almost a carbon copy of Alex's own: the same nose, the same heart-shaped mouth, the same blue eyes. If his hair was blond, this could very well be a photograph of Alex himself at that age.

"No," Alex murmurs, more to himself than anyone else.

"Do you still think I'm lying?"

Part of him does. Charlene could have manipulated a photo of young Alex with that of her son to engineer irrefutable evidence as to his paternity. But why now? If it's money she's after, why wait fourteen years? Why wait until the band is defunct? Wouldn't it make more sense to strike while they were rocketed to international fame with 2112, or enjoying mainstream success with Moving Pictures?

"Why now?" Alex asks, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Charlene takes the picture back. "I was happy with Andrew. We were in love."

"Is that why you cheated on him?"

Charlene ignores that, though Alex can see the hurt on her face.

"Does your husband know you're talking to me?"

Charlene shakes her head. "He's divorcing me. We're separated right now, but he won't even—" She chokes on the words. "He won't even visit Justin. I didn't know he could be so cruel. Justin is alone and scared and he needs his father. If Andrew won't be a man..."

Alex's mouth drops open.

"You're his father," Charlene says, and it still hasn't lost its punch.

"He doesn't even know me. Don't you think it'll screw him up more if he finds out Dad's not his dad?"

"He knows." Her voice is soft, defeated. "He's heard us arguing." Charlene looks at him pointedly. "He's already screwed up."

Alex shakes his head in disbelief. "And I'm not?"

"You're a good man. You're kind and gentle and sweet. I know you'd be a wonderful father."

He almost wants to ask how she knows all this, but that's one of the bizarre caveats of celebrity; they know all about you, and you know nothing about them.

"Do you have kids, Alex?"

Alex glances at Neil again, brief and guilty, before shifting his gaze back to Charlene. "No."

"Well, here's your chance."

"This is so fucked. How could you do this to me?"

"I know you hate me," Charlene sighs, "but this isn't about me. It's about Justin. Your son."

"How long has he been sick?"

"We didn't know anything was wrong until a few weeks ago. But it's very likely he's had problems longer than that, and we just didn't know..." She wrings her hands. "I know he can live with only one kidney, but if one fails, the other has a good chance of failing, too. And then that one kidney has to work twice as hard."

"Does Justin know I'm his—" Alex can't say it yet. "Or would he think I'm just some cool uncle he's never met?"

"He already knows Andrew isn't his biological father. But I don't have to tell him about you. You can donate your kidney and be completely anonymous. I know I'm asking a lot, and you don't need to be part of his life if you don't—" Charlene swallows, and for the briefest moment Alex feels sorry for her. "All I want is to save my son's life."

Alex shakes his head again, dazed. He pushes away from the table. He needs to get out of here.

"Wait."

Alex does, and Charlene roots around in her purse again. She hands him a beveled business card.

"Sleep on it, okay? You're in shock right now, but maybe some time will help you get past this."

Get past it, like it's a fucking kidney stone. Alex rolls his eyes but takes the card anyway. According to the fancy silver print, Charlene is an interior decorator. He tucks the card in his wallet and walks away.

His stomach churns, his mind racing. He's a father. He should be excited, exuberant, but in this moment he feels numb and terrified and enraged and all sorts of fire-borne emotions that are all wrong for the occasion of fatherhood.

This wasn't the way Alex wanted to be a father. If he and Neil adopted a child or hired a surrogate to carry one of their own, that would make sense, but this is a flesh-and-blood shackle that will keep him forever bound to Charlene, a living reminder of that horrible, shameful night the boy was conceived.

Alex finds Neil at the bar and touches a hand to his shoulder. "Let's go," he says, and Neil is up and leading Alex to the door.

The drive home is quiet and oddly tense. Alex can tell Neil wants to ask about the strange woman and why he looks so pale, but neither of them speak until they make it inside their multi-level brick and cedar Toronto home. Neil holds Alex's hand, squeezing his fingers as he navigates the stairs.

Alex knows where this will go, but he follows anyway, letting Neil kiss him and slide his jacket off his shoulders. This affection on the cusp of Charlene's reappearance fills Alex with nausea. On any other occasion, Neil pushing Alex against the wall would be undeniably hot, like Neil can't even wait until they reach the bedroom to have him. But Alex puts his hands on Neil's chest in resistance just as Neil unbuttons Alex's shirt.

"Stop."

Neil looks at him in confusion. "You feeling okay?"

"No."

"Alright, then we won't." Neil's hands fall away, and this unquestioning display of respect for his boundaries makes Alex's throat tighten. Neil has always been so goddamn good to him, given him unconditional love he does not deserve. Alex feels guilty and twisted up, remembering that night with Charlene while looking at the tender affection on Neil's face.

"I love you," Alex feels compelled to say, as though if he says these words enough he will wipe clean his internal slate of mistakes.

Neil smiles, his eyes crinkling. "I know."

Later, when they're lying in bed, Alex can't enjoy the soft, heated puffs of breath against the back of his neck or the way Neil curls a leg over Alex's hip. His mind keeps drifting back to that sickening experience all those years ago, then to Charlene's bombshells from tonight. He won't be able to sleep.

He considers calling Geddy for a late night chat, but it's midnight, and Geddy is most likely asleep by now, cherishing any shut-eye he can get with a baby in the next room. John's probably asleep too. All of Alex's friends are married with children, yet here he is, the outlier in their inner circle, the one holdout in the steady assimilation to suburban normalcy.

Except he has a son, a son who needs Alex's kidney, and as much as Alex wants to be selfless and donate the organ without a second thought, this will be yet another secret kept from Neil. And of course, as per Charlene's plan, Alex won't be able to stop with just being a donor; he will want to be involved in Justin's life the way a father might be, because the kid shares half of his genes, and this is something he has wanted for a long time now. But how could he possibly keep that hidden from Neil?

Neil has always been supportive and understanding, but this might be too much for him.

Unless Alex weaves an easy-to-swallow lie. It was the beginning of Rush's touring career. Times were tough. Say Alex made a couple donations to a sperm bank for some extra cash. Justin is merely the, uh, fruits of Alex's donation. Nothing greasy there.

Except it's probably unlikely Alex's contact information would ever be revealed to Charlene. Confidentiality and all that. And if Neil had been watching—which Alex knows he was—he would have noticed Alex's bristled body language and curt manner, which indicates he knew Charlene prior to tonight. So that probably wouldn't fly. Neil would shoot more holes in that story than a machine gun.

And lying to Neil again probably isn't the best course of action.

A good marriage is built on honesty and trust. Except Alex has been deceiving Neil from the very beginning. So how solid can their relationship possibly be?

Unsurprisingly, Alex doesn't sleep well.


	2. Chapter 2

Ruby-red nails scrape down Alex's chest. He twists in panic, but he's unable to buck the weight atop him. Hands are wrapped around his shoulders, pinning him against the mattress. Every time he moves, his hips rock into the tight, wet heat, which makes him thrash harder. He screams, but there is no sound.

* * *

Alex lurches awake with a gasp, the tendrils of the dream clawing at his memory. He hasn't dreamed about that night since the days of its aftermath, then the first few days back home after 'officially' losing his virginity to Neil. The lie felt like a tangible being in the room with them, sharing their bed, perched on Neil's writing chair, watching them as they slept. But time passed, and Alex felt safe enough to relax a bit, and things seemed to smooth out of their own accord. Neil never questioned Alex's integrity, and he was naive enough to find the newly-acquired ring charming and sweet.

The wound was pretty much healed until Charlene tore it open last night, and all the pain and confusion and anger came rushing back. He feels violated all over again.

Sluggish and sleepy, Alex freshens up in the bathroom before heading downstairs. The kitchen is filled with the tantalizing aromas of delicious breakfast foods. Neil's sitting at the island countertop, reading the newspaper and sipping tea. Spread over the counter are a cast-iron skillet of scrambled eggs, a plate of crisped bacon, and another plate stacked high with chocolate chip pancakes. Neil doesn't care much for sweets, so he must have made the pancakes specifically for Alex, which Alex is both touched and wounded by.

"G'morning. I made you breakfast," Neil says, confirming Alex's suspicions.

"Thanks." Alex steps into the kitchen and makes himself a plate. They eat in what would normally be a comfortable silence, but Alex feels undeserving of Neil's kindness, of this everyday normalcy. If Neil knew what Alex has done...

Alex eats in guilty silence, volunteering to clean up the kitchen after breakfast. When Alex is finished, Neil lingers at the island, meticulously digesting the daily news. On any other morning, Alex would distract Neil by sidling up behind him and carding his fingers through his hair, pressing up against him and murmuring dirty things in his ear. But today Alex simply takes the cordless phone off its charging stand and slinks out to the deck.

Sliding the glass door closed, Alex dials Geddy's home number and paces the sleek hardwood. It's a crisp, clear April morning, and birds flit playfully in the trees.

"Hello?" comes Geddy's voice from the other end of the phone.

"Ged? Hey, it's me."

"Lerxst, are you bored already?"

Alex chuckles half-heartedly. "I, uh, I have a problem."

"I think they make pills for that sort of thing now," Geddy jokes. He has no idea how real shit is about to get.

"What do you do when you've made things so wrong you can never go back?"

There's a pause on the other end, as though Geddy has realized the gravity of their conversation. "Did something happen with you and Neil?"

"Sort of. Are you busy today?"

"No. You want to come over?"

"Please? I really need someone to talk to."

Geddy seems to understand why Alex can't talk to Neil about this particular topic. "Sure. I'll be here."

Alex thanks him and hangs up. He leans against the deck's glass railing, staring into the thicket of emerald trees surrounding their property. Somewhat of a loner, Neil wanted to live far away from other people, secluded in a mountain cabin like a proper author; Alex wanted to stay close to the bustle and hum of the city. They compromised by picking a house in a relatively elite neighborhood which plotted its homes a decent space away from each other. This particular house drew Neil's interest because it had a veritable forest of trees and shrubbery providing a makeshift barricade from the outside world. In the winter the snow clumps on the tree branches, and the world still feels far away.

They really built something here. Alex remembers when the fencing was installed, the backyard bungalow added, all the extra landscaping involved to create this private garden retreat. Not to mention all the remodeling and renovating inside the house. This place is more than just a home to Alex; it's a manifestation of their relationship, from its humble beginnings to something grander and more mature. To lose Neil now, after they have endured so much, is unthinkable.

Neil's pouring another cup of tea when Alex gets back inside the kitchen. "I'm going over to Geddy's," Alex feels compelled to say, as though asking permission.

Neil looks a little surprised, but only because Rush is now defunct, and Alex has fewer reasons to, er, _rush_ over to an ex-bandmate's house. But Neil has no motive to suspect anything is awry. "Okay. Have fun." He smiles, like nothing is wrong. "You know where to find me."

Alex does; the guest bedroom was renovated into a home office for Neil almost immediately after they bought the house, seeing no future need for a second bedroom.

Alex nods. "I won't bother you." Though Neil tries to hide it, he hates being disrupted while he's writing.

Within thirty minutes, Alex arrives at Geddy's home. The first thing Alex always notices about Geddy's house is how lived-in it seems. In the foyer, there are coats and baseball caps hung on racks, kids' shoes discarded on the floor like war wounded. The family room boasts an entertainment center with framed family photos displayed on the shelves, most depicting the kids, though there are a few of Geddy and Nancy, and even some of Alex and Geddy, with John appearing at random intervals.

A Ninja Turtles sweatshirt is slung over the leather couch. There are faint traces of small, dirty shoe tracks on the living room rug. Alex can see aged water rings on the coffee table.

"Dad's upstairs," comes the voice of Geddy's ten-year-old son, Julian.

Alex turns and sees the boy standing in the kitchen, his arm shoved in a box of sugary cereal.

"With the baby," Julian adds around a mouthful of Trix.

"How do you like having a little sister?" Alex asks.

Julian shrugs. "It's okay, I guess." Then, as though thinking he's forgotten his manners, he holds out the cereal box and says, "Want some?"

"Oh, no, thanks. I had pancakes. With chocolate chips."

Julian's eyes widen. "Awww, lucky! Mom never has time to make stuff like that anymore."

"Well, now that your dad's gonna be home more, who knows?"

Another shrug. "Yeah, maybe. But Dad doesn't make good pancakes. They're always burnt."

Geddy comes down the staircase, tying back his long hair. "Hey, Lerxst. I thought I heard you down here." He swings around the handrail and joins them in the living room. "And," he says, looking at Julian, "I thought I heard _you_ badmouthing my pancakes."

"They _are_ always burnt," Julian protests.

Geddy rolls his eyes with affection, pushes a hand through his son's hair. "Don't eat those out of the box. Pour a bowl with milk."

Julian sighs like they've had this conversation a thousand times. "Milk is gross! It's cow juice!"

Alex laughs. "Well, yeah, of course it's gross when you call it that. "

Seemingly feeling outnumbered, Julian says, "Fine," with dramatic exasperation and sulks into the kitchen to properly prepare his breakfast.

"I'll be out on the deck if you need me," Geddy tells him, giving Alex a beckoning look as he slides open the glass doors leading to the backyard. The deck isn't as spacious or grandiose as Alex's, because most of the backyard space is dedicated to the kids. Wooden playsets with swings and slides cover the viridian lawn. A makeshift basketball hoop is tied high around a tree trunk.

Geddy sits in a white adirondack chair facing the doors so he can keep an eye on Julian. "So what's up with you and Neil?"

Straight to the point then. Alex drops into a chair and joins Geddy, his gaze flitting across the yard. He can't look Geddy in the eye. "I've never told anyone this..." Alex starts, testing the waters, trying to work up to what he needs to say. "Do you remember when I bought my wedding ring when we were on tour?"

"Yeah, we made fun of you, said Neil was cheap for making you buy it yourself."

Alex chuckles, but the mirth isn't there. "The reason I bought it... There was—" He exhales, starts over. "Remember the Winnipeg show on that same tour? Well, there was this woman... this groupie..." Alex closes his eyes and is instantly transported back in time as the confession flows from his lips:

_It was a bristly cold March night in 1975. John had already gone back to his motel room for the night, and Geddy was either sick or thought he was getting sick, so he needed as much sleep as he could get. Alex lingered at the bar for a while. Back then, they still played small venues on occasion. A woman—more of a girl, really, she couldn't have been older than 23—struck up a conversation with him. Her hair was long and brown, her face unusually plain. She told Alex she loved the band and raved about how good he was onstage. This soothed his bruised ego, since he thought his playing was shit that night, and he could count his mistakes on both hands._

_They talked over more drinks. Alex liked that she appreciated the same bands he did, impressed by her history of concert attendance. When she mentioned she saw Led Zeppelin live, Alex's adoration of Jimmy Page spilled forth, and she listened with rapt attention, nodding and smiling in all the right places._

_At some point in the night, before closing time, she took out two bent joints from her leather purse and lit one, extending the other for him to take._

_He took it._

Alex toys with his wedding ring the way a devout Catholic worries his rosary beads. "I shouldn't have... If I had just said no..."

Geddy cocks an eyebrow. "Oh, Lerxst, this is starting to sound like Reefer Madness." He's joking, but he's also nervous, like he knows this is heading somewhere dark and that's why Alex has held onto it so long.

Alex forces himself back into the memory:

_When the bar closed, they staggered out into the cold night. The motel was just across the street, so she followed him there, continuing their conversation. Alex took the final few puffs off his joint before stubbing it out on the concrete; the weed was chalky and bitter, not the best he'd had._

_Once they got to Alex's motel room door, she asked if she could come inside to use the restroom. Alex let her in and shed his coat, stripping off his cold-weather clothes. He took off his boots, placed them under the bed._

_Letting her inside had been his crucial mistake, because Alex turned around at the sound of the bathroom door opening, and was faced with her standing there in nothing but a pair of black underwear. Her breasts were average, he guessed, nothing to write home about, but if he were straight he'd probably be more invested in their size and shape._

" _Whoa, whoa," he sputtered. "I'm sorry, I think I gave you the wrong idea." Had he led her on? He didn't think so, but maybe she misinterpreted his friendliness as flirtation. "I don't—I'm with someone."_

_She had laughed at that, as though his desire to remain faithful was naive. She looked around the room. "I don't see anyone," she said, moving closer. Alex backed up, but he had a moment of hesitation that allowed her to close the distance between them. Her bosom crushed against his chest, and he could feel her nipples through his shirt._

_Alex shook his head, gently pushing her away by her shoulders. "I'm not a cheater."_

" _I don't want you to cheat. I just wanna have sex with you."_

_Even if Alex believed sex and love were mutually exclusive, it wouldn't change that he's attracted only to men. He would gain nothing from having sex with her._

" _Sex is just a physical act," she explained, snaking a hand between his legs and squeezing him through his jeans, "like scratching an itch. Feeling guilty about it is just another way society tries to keep you down."_

_Alex made a noise of protest and shifted so she wasn't touching him. "I've never—You wouldn't have a good time."_

" _You're a virgin?" She smiled, but not in a mocking way. She seemed genuinely thrilled by the prospect of taking a rock star's virginity. "Maybe I could teach you some things." She tried to pull his shirt off, but he twisted away._

" _No, I don't want—" Momentarily free, Alex grabbed her clothes off the bathroom floor and handed them to her. "Please. Just go."_

_Her mood shifted like the crack of a whip. She gazed at him in pain, as if he'd stabbed her. "You don't think I'm pretty. Is that it?" Tears glistened in her eyes, her full, glossy lips quivering._

_Alex had no idea what he'd said to give her that impression. He opened his mouth, closed it, grasping for words that would soothe her. "No, you're pretty, I just—I love"—he almost said 'Neil'—"my girlfriend. And I don't want to cheat on her when we've never..."_

_She snatched the clothes from his hand, clutching them to her chest in an attempt to cover herself, ashamed of her nakedness in the face of his rejection. "You're lying," she whimpered, sliding to the floor, looking tiny and diminutive. "No man is that faithful. I've been with rock stars. Even the married ones sleep around."_

_Alex crouched down to comfort her, though he was hesitant to touch her, worried any physical contact would be misinterpreted. "It's not that. And it has nothing to do with you. Honestly, I'm not even a rock star yet. We're still just starting out. The whole groupie thing is new to me, and kind of weird, I guess."_

_She wiped her eyes, her hysterics gone almost as quickly as they began. "Are you gay, Alex?"_

_Hearing his name in her mouth made him feel like spiders were crawling on his skin. Fear welled up inside of him. The truth must never come out. If she knew, it would not deter her. She would claim his homosexuality was the result of never having been with a "real" woman. Or she would humiliate him and tarnish the band's reputation. Rush was just beginning, just starting to gain popularity with their second album. This band was not only Alex's future, but Geddy's and John's as well._

" _No," he said, because that's what men were supposed to say to that question. Maybe they still are. "I'm not gay, I just—"_

" _Then if you're not gay, having sex with a woman shouldn't be a problem." She stood up, taking him by surprise. In her handful of clothes was a scarf, and as she backed him up against the bed, she used it to tie his wrists to the headboard._

_Alex's first instinct was to fight, but she had already proven herself to be a little south of sane. What might she do if Alex forced her off of him? Hurt herself and say he did it? A scandal like that would not only hurt the band, but his own reputation as well. And how might he refute it? Claiming he didn't want to have sex with her would make him a laughingstock. Saying it was rough sex that got out of hand would eventually get back to Neil, who would not forgive him for this transgression. Either way, it would have looked like Alex was trying to cover up a one-night stand._

_He didn't know what to do, so he did nothing._

_She straddled his hips, sort of pinning him down. She settled her weight onto him, and Alex squirmed in displeasure but only supplying friction. She purred a contented sound and tugged at the front of his blouse._

" _No," Alex managed to say, albeit weakly. "I don't want..."_

" _Of course you do."_

_And so, irrationally, Alex let it happen. The night's consumption of weed and alcohol made him slow and sluggish, so she knelt between his legs and sucked him off until he was hard enough to fit inside of her. She didn't make him use a condom. When Alex protested, she said, "Don't worry, I'm on the pill," and sank upon him. She was hot and drenched inside, and Alex whimpered quiet little noises as she rode him. His heart felt fit to burst, his ears ringing._

_Her tongue flitted hungrily between his lips, then her mouth drifted, teeth pinching a nipple. The sensation was electric, a burst of arousal, and Alex's hips bucked wildly. She licked and sucked at the bud on his chest, her fingers playing with the other. He hated that Neil wasn't the first to touch him that way._

" _She has to come too," she told him, like this was some sex-ed course he willingly signed up for. "If you touch her here..." She guided his hand between her legs. "You should be good with your hands; you're a guitarist."_

_Alex added a bit more force to his hips, hoping this would be over once she climaxed. She probably wouldn't care too much if he orgasmed or not._

_She moaned, gasping as her hips rolled in tandem with his, and her fingers curled over his stomach as she came. Her pulsing slickness around his cock set off something inside of him, and he finished unceremoniously inside of her, a confusing burst of guilt and pleasure and shame. He shook, and she squeezed him between her thighs, rocking him through it and sighing contentedly. He slid out of her with a soft, guilty plop._

_She folded over him and kissed his parted lips. "See? That wasn't so bad," she whispered._

"Why didn't I just say no?" Alex says, back on Geddy's shaded deck. "I was just... paralyzed. I was young and stupid and didn't know what to do. And I try not to think about it, because I don't know how to feel. I feel violated, but I also kinda feel like I shouldn't feel that way? Like maybe I wanted it because I let it happen."

The silence between them is deafening.

Geddy shakes his head in disbelief. "Alex... I had no idea."

"You know what the worst part is?" Alex says with a tiny, almost manic, laugh. "She had my kid. I have a fourteen-year-old son I've never even known about until last night."

Geddy's tiny eyes grow as large as dinner plates. " _What_?"

"No, it gets worse. He needs a new kidney, and I could be a match because I'm his biological father."

Geddy blinks, soaking this all in. Alex almost feels sorry for him; he has no idea how he'd handle it if their roles were reversed and it was Geddy telling him all this. "Have you met"—Geddy hesitates—"your son?"

Alex shakes his head and fills Geddy in on the conversation with Charlene. When he's finished, Geddy sits back in his chair with a look of amazement on his face.

"I want to meet him," Alex says, trying to put the cavalcade of his thoughts into words. "I want to be a part of his life, if he'll let me. But I can't... Neil would hate me if he knew."

Geddy's brow creases. "You don't think Neil would understand what happened? He's very progressive. Open-minded. I don't think he would dismiss the possibility..."

Alex shakes his head again, feeling dizzy at the prospect of confessing his greatest sin to Neil. "He wouldn't think this qualifies as rape. Some days even I don't think it does. I could have done more to stop it, but I didn't. In a fucked-up way, I said yes."

Geddy looks like he wants to argue, but changes his mind. "It was fifteen years ago. You and Neil were just starting out. And the band was starting to get attention and groupies. You were young and probably still figuring out your sexuality. I'm not saying that's what happened, but I think Neil is smart enough to see there are a lot of different angles to this."

"I haven't even asked him if he wants to have kids now," Alex says. "What if he still doesn't? What if he never does? I love Neil more than anything, but I want to be a dad." He is terrified he will be forced to choose one over the other.

Geddy watches him with gentle eyes. One of Alex's favorite things about Geddy is how good of a listener he is, how he doesn't judge or interrupt.

"I don't think I can answer any of that for you," Geddy says after a moment. "You need to talk to Neil."

Alex screws up his face in distress.

Geddy leans forward, cracking his knuckles. "Let's say you take the blood test and you're a match. How do you expect to donate your kidney and keep it a secret from Neil? You'd probably recuperate from the surgery at the hospital, so you'd need a believable alibi, and now that the band's broken up those are a little harder to come by. And once you get home, you think Neil won't notice the surgical scar? He's your husband; he knows your body better than you do. He'll know the scar wasn't there before and figure out it must have happened when you 'suspiciously' disappeared for a few days.

"And," Geddy continues, "even if you manage to pull all of that off, it will just be one more secret you're keeping from him. Another lie. That's the worst part, isn't it? That you've lied to him all this time?"

Alex nods sadly. But he will lie his way out of this if it means staying with Neil. Alex isn't blind; he knows he's not much of a catch anymore: an overweight ex-rock star slowly losing his hair isn't exactly on the top of anyone's "dream husband" list. Neil, however, has aged like a fine wine, somehow becoming more attractive in the last fifteen years. His proclivity towards physical activities has earned him a toned, muscular physique. His arms alone are ridiculous. Alex's body is ridiculous for entirely different, pathetic reasons.

He'll never find someone as sweet and kind and half as much of a hottie as Neil. Alex has kept this secret for fifteen years; what's fifteen more?

* * *

Alex lingers at Geddy's house, a little unwilling to leave and return to the daunting puzzle of his life. Julian is all too happy to show off his impressive Nintendo game collection and convinces Alex to play Super Mario Bros. 3 with him. Maybe it doesn't say much for Alex's maturity level, but he genuinely enjoys talking with the kid. Geddy's brother Allan is somewhat of a square, and Nancy's brother Lindy moved to Phoenix three years ago, so Alex pretty much has the monopoly on the 'cool uncle' market.

It's Julian's turn on world four when he asks, "How come you and Neil don't have kids?"

"Your parents haven't given you the talk, have they?"

"I know where babies come from," Julian says, like it's exhausting navigating the dense forest of Alex's obtuseness. "But some of my friends at school are adopted. How come you can't do that?"

Alex watches Mario shoot fireballs onscreen. "Well, me and Neil were too busy to have kids. But now that the band is over, maybe we'll have time. Why'd you ask?"

Julian shrugs, tapping buttons on the controller. "'Cause Mom said it was weird for people your age to be married and not have kids. You're, like, forty?"

Alex frowns. "Thirty-six."

"Close enough."

"Wait, she said that? Was she directly talking about me?"

Another shrug. He presses more buttons; Mario hits a block for a mushroom. "I guess. Dad was talking about you, so maybe."

Alex scowls at the screen. You jokingly hire a stripper for your best friend's birthday, and his wife holds a grudge for the next ten years.

Geddy pokes his head into the doorway. "Lerxst, do you wanna stay for lunch?"

Alex checks his wristwatch. Holy shit, how is it noon already? "Oh, no, thanks, I should probably get going." Using the metal bedframe, he gets to his feet.

"You're not leaving 'cause of something I said, are you?" Julian asks.

"No, no, you're fine. Don't worry about that," Alex tells him with an 'everything's okay' smile. "I'll see you around, kiddo."

As they descend the stairs, Geddy asks Alex, "What was he talking about?"

"Oh, he mentioned that Nancy said it was weird Neil and I don't have kids."

Geddy chuckles. "I don't think he had the proper context for that. She didn't mean it in a hurtful way. She said both of you would make great parents, so she thought it was strange you'd gone this long without having kids. That's all."

Alex breathes a sigh of relief. "Oh, good. So she doesn't still resent me for that stripper thing?"

Geddy laughs heartily. "No, of course not. That was hilarious."

When Alex makes it home, he finds Neil at the kitchen sink gulping down a glass of water. He's fresh off his mid-morning workout, clad in a tanktop and bike shorts, showcasing his lean, taut limbs. Alex is immediately hard.

"Oh, there you are," Neil says, noticing Alex in his peripheral vision. "How's Geddy doing?" Neil turns to face him; Alex sees the sheen of sweat covering his chest and is stricken with the urge to lick it off.

"He's fine. But not as fine as you," Alex says, moving closer. "You know it turns me on when you're all sweaty and"—he gestures to Neil—"muscley."

Neil smiles and lets Alex get impossibly close, winds his arms around Alex's waist. "Hardly the word I'd use, but I appreciate the flattery."

Alex nudges his erection into Neil's thigh. Neil chuckles, pushing his hands underneath Alex's shirt, skimming over his back. "You want me to help you with that?" Neil dips his head down a bit to capture Alex's mouth underneath his own. Alex kisses him back, hands clutching in the front of Neil's sweat-dampened tanktop. If Neil is willing to give, Alex will take and take until there's nothing left.

"Pretty please?" Alex bats his eyelashes, biting his lip in the way he knows drives Neil crazy.

Neil inhales deeply through his nose, like he's trying to control himself. His hands curve around Alex's hips, gliding up his middle. "I want you on top," he says, his voice low and husky. "I wanna watch you get off on my cock. Will you do that for me?"

Alex bites his lip again, this time out of sheer disbelief over how fucking hot that is. Neil only talks dirty when he's aggressively turned on, and Alex feels a bit of pride that he can still arouse him like this.

"You wanna watch me?" Alex teases. He tugs at the elastic waist of Neil's shorts. "That's pretty fuckin' greasy. Maybe I should do a _solo_ for you." He grins and, to emphasize the point, wraps a hand around Neil's cock. Neil is already hard and pulsing under Alex's touch, and he gasps.

"I... would not be opposed to that."

They make it upstairs, leaving a trail of discarded clothes like breadcrumbs along the staircase and down the hall to the bedroom. On the bed, Alex kisses Neil's mouth, his jaw, his chin, licks the sweat from his neck. Neil groans, and Alex sinks lower, pressing kisses to Neil's chest and nipples and stomach and swirling his tongue around his navel and purposely avoiding his cock to make him squirm. And squirm Neil does.

"Alex," he huffs, breathless, as Alex mouths at the tops of his thighs. Neil cards a hand through Alex's hair, and Alex gazes up at him.

"Do you really wanna watch me?" Alex asks, because he can't imagine Neil genuinely wanting to see that.

"If you want to."

"Whatever you want, baby." Alex climbs up Neil's body and kisses him. Neil slides his hands into Alex's boxer shorts and pushes them down his thighs. He begins to unfasten the remaining buttons of Alex's shirt, but Alex backs off, stopping him.

"Please?" Neil says, his eyes imploring. Alex has a hand curled over Neil's chest, and Neil brushes his fingers over his wrist, pushing through the dark hair. "I love every part of you. You're perfect to me."

Alex tries to fight his smile but fails, and Neil looks at him with adoration. He plans on telling Neil at least part of the truth at some point today, so this might be the last time Alex has sex with Neil. Might as well make it memorable.

Playfully, Alex unbuttons and strips off his shirt. Neil drinks him in, sliding his palms up Alex's thighs, dragging his fingers through the dark thatch of hair leading to Alex's dick. He gives it a quick, gentle squeeze or two before grabbing the bottle of lube off the night table.

Neil is already hard, the vein on the underside of his cock jutting prominently, so Alex takes care not to arouse him too much as he slicks him up. Neil rocks his hips into Alex's hand, trying to turn this into a quick and dirty handjob, so Alex says "fuck it" and takes him in. He groans, overwhelmed by how fucking good Neil feels inside of him. Neil clutches onto Alex's hips, his own jerking up to push in deeper, because he knows Alex can take it.

Neil grunts, and Alex gives him what he wants, rising and falling on his cock, rocking back and forth. Alex is pretty vocal in bed anyway, so he doesn't need to play up his reactions here; he huffs and gasps and moans and swears, and occasionally Alex will glance down at Neil and see him lying there, watching him with hungry, adoring eyes, and Alex can't help the goofy smile that spreads on his own lips.

Neil comes, which makes Alex come too, and soon they're panting and clutching at each other, and Alex drops onto Neil and tries to catch his breath. Alex moans contentedly, squeezing his thighs together for the last electric surges of pleasure. Neil slides a hand down Alex's back and rubs him through the comedown, two fingers teasing his hole, slick with lube and jizz. Alex bites down on a groan; even after fifteen years together, Neil is still attentive to Alex's needs.

Neil's breath is warm at Alex's ear. "You're beautiful," he sighs, and Alex purrs at the stroke of Neil's fingers. "When was the last time I told you I love you?"

"You said you love my hot bod just a second ago," Alex jokes.

Neil chuckles; Alex never fails to feel flattered when Neil laughs, however softly, at one of his dumb jokes. "Well, I do. I love you. And your hot bod."

Alex grins, burying his face in Neil's chest as his hand slows.

Neil is usually pretty agreeable after sex, and he seems to be particularly affectionate today, so if Alex is going to broach the topic of his illegitimate son, now's the time.

"Can I ask you something?" Alex murmurs, tracing shapes on Neil's chest.

"Of course."

"How attached are you to my kidneys?"

Neil makes his amused-confused face, a squinty thing which is a sight to behold; he does this a lot, since Alex is prone to saying bizarre things.

"I, uh, last night... That woman I was talking to? She was someone I went to high school with. And she—she has a son who needs a kidney transplant, and she wanted to know if I'd take a blood test and see if I'm a match. If I am... I think I want to do it."

Alex shuts his eyes, waiting for Neil's skepticism, or at least a reprimand for his sudden altruism. But it doesn't come. Instead, Neil says, "Really?" He sounds intrigued, maybe impressed.

"Yeah, y'know, she hasn't found a donor yet, and maybe I won't even be a match, but it feels like the right thing to do." Unlike lying, which Alex seems to be the goddamn master of lately.

The hand between Alex's legs has stilled, and Neil brings the other one up to Alex's hair, his touch a careful contrast to his words. "Your father died from kidney problems, right? Isn't that hereditary?"

A stone forms in Alex's chest. He hasn't really given that any thought until now, too blinded by the possibility of saving his son. If Alex gives Justin his kidney, what happens when Alex's remaining organ fails?

 _Maybe it skips a generation_ , Alex thinks bitterly.

Alex nods in response. "But what if that never happens to me? And this kid dies 'cause I was too hung up on what might happen?"

Neil breathes softly, a hot ghosted exhale against Alex's skin. "One of the things I love the most about you is how open-hearted you are. Your generosity. How _good_ you are."

Guilt runs through Alex like sludge in his veins.

"But..." Neil says, as though contemplating his next few words. "If your father's problems are hereditary, say we have a child—well, I guess you'd be the father in this scenario—and he or she needs a kidney transplant. But you've already given yours away."

"You—you wanna have kids?" Alex feels a bolt of hope, of new possibilities. He looks at Neil, trying to read his face. "With me?"

"Well, I'd raise them with you," Neil says. "Obviously to have them a woman would need to be involved." Mr. Semantics.

Alex rolls his eyes and tries to shake off the guilt. "You know what I mean."

"I do. And maybe that's not something I'm ready for right now, but in a year or two, I think I'd like to give it a try." Neil smiles, and his eyes do that crinkly thing that sets off butterflies in Alex's stomach. "You'd be a great father."

Alex screams internally. "But you don't think I should—"

"It's your body. You can make your own decisions about what to do with it." Mr. Semantics is now Mr. Progressive. "But you asked my opinion, so I'm giving it. I can only speak for what I would do in your situation."

Neil has Alex over a barrel here, and not in the sexy way. Alex can't admit the recipient of his kidney would be his biological son, because that would require admitting to the cheating/rape/regrettable sexual experience with Charlene. Neil may want to have kids in the future, but that probably isn't what he has in mind.

But Alex tries to find a loophole. "So you'd save it for your own kid?"

"I don't think I'd be able to handle the guilt and regret if I couldn't save my own child. Even if it meant having saved someone else's. We're all selfish deep down, looking out for our own. You owe this boy nothing. Or his mother. I think in your position you have access to a lot more avenues to help him: start a charity drive or something." Neil strokes Alex's hair as though he's a frightened dog. "But that's just me. Whatever decision you make, I'll stand by you."

Alex knows he is no good; Neil is the one who is selfless and generous and kind. Guilt burns him like a branding iron, and Alex feels like he has a searing red stamp on his forehead indicative of his lies and deceit.

Underneath him, Neil shifts to get up. "I need a shower. Care to join me?"

Still craving affection and acceptance, Alex says yes.


	3. Chapter 3

After Neil is freshly scrubbed and hidden away in his home office, Alex digs out the business card Charlene gave him last night. He paces around the bedroom for a moment or two before deciding to stop being a chickenshit and just call.

Even though he prepared himself for it, the sound of Charlene's voice hits Alex like a suckerpunch. "Charlene MacNaughtan."

"Hi, uh, it's me... Alex. I was just—I wanna help Justin." He thinks he hears her gasp a small sound of hopeful surprise. "So... just tell me what to do."

"Thank you so much," she says, her voice choked with gratitude. "You have no idea how much this means."

"You don't even know if I'm a match." Even Alex himself hasn't given that possibility much thought, too wrapped up in the high stakes. But if he's not a match, what can he do to save his son?

"You're his father. You have to be," Charlene says with conviction, the same assurance that led to Justin's conception. "I'll be at the hospital later today, around 4 or so. You can meet me there and I'll show you what to do. Justin will be there too, if you want..." She doesn't finish that sentence, but Alex knows where it was heading.

"We'll see." Alex knows once he actually sees his son in person, removed from the abstract, he will be unable to justify squandering his own kidney. If he can't provide his own, he will tear it out of an unwilling match, like that scene from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.

At the hospital, Charlene gratefully shuffles Alex to the care of nurses who draw his blood and take it away for testing. While he waits for the results, he asks Charlene if he can see Justin. She happily leads him through the sterilized white hallways and to a room in the children's ward.

"Does he know who I am?" Alex asks in a whisper as they hover outside the door.

"Not the most important part."

They step inside, Charlene leading the way. Justin's lying in bed, flipping through a comic book. He's wearing a Detroit Pistons t-shirt commemorating the team's recent championship title. One look at the boy's familiar features knocks the air out of Alex's lungs.

_My son._

Justin glances up, and a smile crosses his face when he sees Alex. Alex's heart clenches in his chest. He feels like he's looking at a living, breathing photograph of himself at this age.

"You're Alex Lifeson, right?" Justin asks. "From Rush?"

Alex manages a nod, afraid his voice will betray him in this crucial first impression.

"My mom's obsessed with you."

"I know." Alex forces a smile, but it comes more easily than he thought.

Charlene has the good sense to look embarrassed. "Alex is here to see if he's a match," she tells him.

Justin's expression brightens, unbridled childlike hope in his eyes. "If I get your kidney, does that mean I get some of your guitar skills?"

Alex chuckles. "I don't think it works that way. But maybe I could teach you sometime."

Justin grins, then looks at his mother. "Mom, can you go get me a Coke?"

Charlene seems to understand that Justin wants a moment alone with Alex, and for whatever reason, she allows this. "Sure."

Justin waits for her to leave before he says, "You're my real dad, aren't you?"

Alex's lungs stop, the breath choking in his throat. An ocean-shell rushing fills his ears.

"That's why Mom's so obsessed with you."

"Maybe I'm just a stud," Alex jokes weakly, still reeling from the kid's blunt honesty.

Justin makes a face. "God, you're so lame. I can't believe I'm related to you."

"Just a couple seconds ago you sounded pretty psyched about it."

"That was before I knew you were lame."

Alex isn't going to bother arguing his coolness to a fourteen-year-old. There is a more pertinent discussion to be had. He moves closer, sits at Justin's bedside. "Why do you think I'm your biological father?"

"Because I'm not stupid," Justin says, like he thinks Alex is a moron. "I heard Mom and Dad fighting about it when Dad wasn't a match. Something about how I couldn't be his 'cause his blood type wasn't right. Then Mom told him she slept with someone else back when she was a groupie, and Dad called her a home-wrecking slut, and he hasn't seen me since."

Sadness washes over Alex like a wave. "How long ago was that?"

"I dunno. Two weeks?" Justin says with a shrug.

"That's hardly proof I'm your father."

Justin gives him a pointed look, suddenly wiser than his years. "Then why are you here? 'Cause you're just willing to give some random kid your kidney? You don't even know me."

Alex feels pinned by Justin's words and the attack on his false selflessness. Of course he isn't that altruistic.

"And I look more like you than Dad," Justin adds.

He seems pretty well-versed on this subject, and Alex thinks it unwise to bullshit him. It's not like the kid doesn't already know his genetics are in question. "Alright, there is... a good possibility I'm your biological father."

A smile works its way onto Justin's mouth despite his attempts to contain it.

"You know none of this is your fault, right?" Alex says, because Justin needs to know that. "Your Dad running off... That's got nothing to do with you."

Justin looks torn up, like he can't even begin to explain what he's feeling. "If he loved me he wouldn't have run away."

"I don't think it's healthy to look at things as purely black or white. There are always grey areas. But maybe you're right and maybe he's a dick."

Justin huffs a laugh.

"Do you think I'm a dick for not being around the last fourteen years?"

Justin shakes his head. "Mom didn't tell you. Probably 'cause she didn't know."

"I thought she was obsessed with me."

"Well, yeah, but... y'know."

Alex doesn't, but he nods anyway.

Charlene returns to the room with Justin's soda. She sets the can on the tray near his bedside. "Did you two have a nice talk?"

"Yeah," Justin says. "Can I spend the weekend at Alex's house so he can teach me guitar?"

"I think that's up to Alex," Charlene says, her eyes twinkling with motherly joy that the two of them are getting along.

Alex feels foolishly unprepared, like he's back in school and faced with a test he didn't study for. "Uh, that's fine, I guess, but I'll have to check with my husband."

Justin looks confused. "You're married to a guy?"

"Is that a problem?" Alex hopes Charlene hasn't raised her son to be a homophobe.

"No," Justin says with a shrug, like it doesn't matter. "But if you're gay how'd you and Mom have me?"

Alex and Charlene exchange a look; he thinks he sees guilt on her face. "It was a long time ago," Alex says.

"Did you turn him gay?" Justin asks his mother, shocked and amused.

 _No_ , Alex thinks, _she coerced and manipulated me into sex, saddling me with deeply-rooted psychological issues and guilt._

"Yeah," he says instead, playing it off as a joke, "she did."

"Wow," Justin laughs with a shake of his head. "Nice work, Mom."

Charlene fakes a smile.

A nurse steps inside the room and looks at Alex. "Mr. Lifeson?"

His heart races, the possibility of being a match stirring excitement and terror inside of him. "Yes?"

"Can I speak with you outside for a moment?"

Alex follows her out of the room so they have a degree of privacy. He yearns for good news, but he can already tell by the slight crease of her brow and set of her cherry-red mouth that there will be no good news. He briefly panics over the possibility that they have found some unknown illness in his blood and he has only months to live.

"Unfortunately, your blood type isn't a match for Justin," she says, and Alex feels hope extinguish from him like air being let out of a balloon.

_My son is going to die, and there's nothing I can do about it._

"I'm sorry, how is that possible if I'm his father?"

"Did you take much biology in high school?"

"I smoked a lot of pot in high school."

The nurse huffs a small laugh despite herself. "The long and short of it is: Justin's blood type is A-positive. Yours is AB-positive. Justin can't receive AB blood because he has anti-B antibodies that will fight off the B blood's B antigens. He needs a donor with either O-type blood or A-type blood."

Hope returns in a nervous burst of energy, like a bird fluttering inside a cage. "You said A-type would be a match?"

"Preferably A-positive—the body has less of a chance of rejecting the organ if it's as close to the original as possible—but, yes, any A-type would be a match. Of course, the lifestyle, health, and age of the donor would be taken into consideration as well."

Alex hears that seashell rushing again. Seven years ago, Neil was involved in an accident that put him in the hospital with a broken arm. The band had been overseas in Paris when Alex found out about the accident, and they'd cancelled three shows to allow him to return home and see Neil. But Alex remembers catching sight of Neil's blood type on the hospital chart at the foot of his bed.

A-positive.

Or was it A-negative?

Alex can't remember for sure, but he's certain it was A-type. Could Neil be the matching donor? If he is, how can Alex possibly convince him to donate his kidney to some kid he doesn't even know? Unless... Alex tells him the truth.

He'll have to be honest. It's the only way to convey to Neil how important this is for Alex. And if Neil hates him forever, fine. But Justin shouldn't have to suffer because of Alex's lies.

Alex thanks her and steps back into the room, feeling like he just fell out of a plane and survived. Charlene and Justin greet him with hopeful looks, and Alex withers.

"I, um, I'm not a match," he says, his voice barely audible in his own ears, but the room is quiet enough that they hear him loud and clear. "But I might know someone who is..."

* * *

That evening, Neil is still sequestered in his home office, so Alex coaxes him downstairs by cooking dinner: beer cheese and smoked sausage pasta, one of Neil's favorite comfort foods. He also has a spiced caramel cheesecake sitting in the fridge. Aside from sex, food is a surefire way to Neil's heart, and Alex feels like sex might be considered too much of a manipulation at this juncture, especially considering what he'll ask Neil to do. But a special home-cooked meal simply shows that Alex cares for Neil and knows his likes and dislikes.

As expected, Neil comes downstairs when dinner is ready. Alex has opened a bottle of wine, already working on his first glass of a crisp, fruity white, but Neil opts for a glass of sweet tea. His kidneys must be pristine, Alex thinks. Showroom new. He rarely drinks alcohol, only sipping at a glass of wine for celebratory occasions, or downing a few fingers' worth of whiskey on those rare nights when he can't sleep.

Neil makes himself a plate of delicious food, kissing Alex on the cheek as they pass in the kitchen. "Thank you," Neil says, and Alex feels horrible.

They take their places on the couch and watch a baseball game on television. The Tigers are losing to the Red Sox. Alex doesn't have much of a stake in either team, but watching baseball is just something he does now since spending so much time with Geddy—the band's resident baseball nut—on the road.

Neil sits with his legs crossed underneath him, like he's in the middle of a yoga class. Alex stretches out, feeling sleepy and fat already. They eat in comfortable silence, occasionally trading commentary on the game or a commercial. After dinner, Neil savors a slice of the cheesecake, gathering caramel sauce on the tip of his finger and tasting it in a way that sets Alex's libido on fire.

"I know I've told you this before," Neil says, licking his lips, "but now that the band's retired you could try your hand at being a chef."

Alex blushes the way he always does when Neil compliments him. "I dunno if I'm that good..."

"Anyone who has taste buds would say your cooking is fantastic," Neil says, going in for another bite. "At least consider putting together a cookbook."

"I don't think the world is ready for that."

"Nancy still wants the recipe for her wedding cake."

When Geddy and Nancy announced their wedding, Nancy immediately asked Alex to create their wedding cake. Alex came up with a super-moist black velvet cake with cream cheese filling between the layers, topped with fresh blackberries, and frosted with soft violet-hued vanilla buttercream frosting.

After seeing Alex's baking proficiency, John and his wife Eva enlisted Alex's help in creating cute, colorful cakes for their daughter's birthdays. Alex became Rush's go-to cook and baker, preparing gourmet dishes and decadent treats while the band camped out in a Morin-Heights studio for their recording sessions.

"I could help you with the writing part," Neil volunteers. "If that's what you're worried about."

Alex shrugs. "We'll see." He doesn't want to make plans considering what he's about to tell Neil. "I just need some time to think about it."

Neil nods, accepting Alex's answer, and finishes off the cheesecake.

Later, they're in their bedroom, and Neil is mouthing kisses over Alex's neck, his hands pushed inside Alex's t-shirt. Alex twists away, undeserving of his affection. "Stop," he says, and Neil does, no longer touching him.

"Something bothering you?" Neil asks, too finely tuned to Alex's behavior to let this uncharacteristic refusal of sex go unquestioned.

Alex hugs his arms like he's cold and sits on the edge of the bed. "I need to ask you a really big favor. You're not gonna like it. And you're not gonna like me. But I can't... I have to tell you."

"I'm listening," Neil says in a gentle voice, joining Alex on the bed.

Alex takes a long breath through his nose to steady himself. He's been searching for the right combination of words to make Neil understand, but he has realized there isn't one. "I went to the hospital today to see if I'm a match for Justin, y'know, the kid I told you about earlier. But I'm not. He needs a donor with an A blood type. Which one are you?"

The line of Neil's mouth hardens, as though he sees where Alex is heading. "A-positive."

A perfect match, Alex thinks.

"That's—that's his blood type. You'd probably be a match, unless they don't think your kidney is good enough. But you don't smoke or drink. You take care of yourself." Alex hears himself, knows he's rambling. _Get to the point._ "I know you said you wanted to save your kidney for your own child, but... you would be. In a way. He's my son."

Alex doesn't even look at Neil, too terrified to see the despair and anger etched on his face. Instead, he stares at the carpet and waits for Neil's response. His heart slams around in his chest. The world is coming to an end. The house is about to explode.

"Since when do you have a son?" Neil asks, pointed and charged.

"Since 1976."

"And you never told me?"

"I didn't know until the other night."

Neil gets up and moves around, pacing the floor, unable to be still during confrontation. "So that woman... She's the one you slept with?"

Alex doesn't want to argue the point of his consent; Neil might misconstrue it as a lie, a way for Alex to escape the consequences of his alleged cheating. Alex makes a noncommittal nod and says, "She's Justin's mother."

"So you lied about that. When did you sleep with her?"

"1975. We were on tour."

"And you and I were together."

"I know."

"Jesus," Neil says, raking a hand through his hair, "if you were gonna cheat, why didn't you wear a condom? I know you were young, but I never thought you'd be that stupid."

_She didn't let me._

Alex says nothing.

"And you want me to donate one of my organs to this kid you had by cheating on me?"

"I know you're mad at me," Alex finally says, "but please don't make Justin suffer for my mistake." He hears how similar this argument is to the one Charlene made just the other night, and disgust roils within him.

"Not to sound callous, but this boy is young. He'll find a donor. Kids are usually first in line for that sort of thing anyway. And A-positive isn't exactly a rare blood type."

"That does sound pretty callous," Alex points out, because he's an idiot.

Neil ignores that. "Did you honestly think I would do this?"

"I hoped you would. He's my son."

"Yeah. _Yours_. Not ours."

"Even you can't be that cold-hearted. What if I had a kid when I met you?"

"Then that would be different. I'd know what I was getting into. But you can't just spring this on me after fourteen years."

"I didn't know!" Alex protests, because that's his only line of defense here. "I swear, last night was the first I ever heard about having a kid."

"But you still cheated. You knew about that. And you hid it from me all this time."

"Would you have wanted to know? We had just started dating; you probably would've left me if I'd told you."

"Well, maybe I should have," Neil grumbles, and Alex knows he doesn't mean it, but that doesn't take away the sting. "What other secrets have you been keeping from me? Maybe you've got ten other kids you don't know about."

Alex takes the verbal blows with aplomb, but his insides feel shaky like he's been punched. "I'm sorry," is all he can think to say as he wipes the tears from his cheeks.

"At least now I know you're a liar," Neil says, and that one hurts more than the others, because that's the part Alex can't refute. He has lied to Neil for almost the entirety of their relationship, or at least kept secrets. Where does a secret end and a lie begin?

"I'm sorry," Alex says again.

Neil abandons him in their suddenly too-big bedroom. Alex shivers from the aftershocks of confrontation until he's lying on the bed weeping and hating himself.


	4. Chapter 4

Alex wakes up in the morning feeling hung over and dehydrated, like his bone marrow has turned to dust. Crying oneself to sleep is exhausting; the last time Alex did it was the days after his disastrous encounter with Charlene.

Alex lies in bed for a while imagining what this morning would be like if his entire life hadn't capsized like a shrimp boat on a restless sea. He would find Neil in the kitchen brewing coffee and preparing breakfast, and Alex would slide in close and kiss him, his mouth sinking lower until Neil leans back against the counter and groans. Just another morning in their blissful marriage.

Thinking about what would have been only saddens Alex more. He reaches for the phone and calls Charlene.

"Do you think I could spend some time with Justin?" Alex asks.

"He has school today."

"I know. I mean after."

"If he wants to, that'll be fine."

 _Oh,_ now _she cares about consent_ , Alex thinks bitterly.

"Any plans?" Charlene asks.

"I don't know. I'll figure something out."

Alex keeps himself busy in the basement for a few hours. The basement was remodeled early on to be a makeshift recording studio, or at least a soundproof room where Alex and the rest of the band could play without disturbing Neil. It's not much to look at: beige walls and carpet, grey couches. Alex thought surrounding himself with boring aesthetics would jumpstart his creativity; he'd been right, but that same dullness makes him uneasy now.

He swings by Charlene's house around four after she calls him back and tells him to pick up Justin. Alex rings the doorbell, and Charlene pulls it open, looking shy but happy to see him. Alex doesn't think he'll ever get used to her recurring role in his life now. Seeing her smile at him like the reason they're standing here isn't completely fucked up makes rage simmer inside of him.

"Justin couldn't wait for you to get here," she says, and Alex hears the frantic stomping of feet coming down the stairs.

"Alex, hey!" Justin says, trying to play off his excitement. "Where are we going?"

Alex's sour mood immediately lifts at the sight of his son. "We'll decide in the car."

"Be home by ten," Charlene tells him. "It's a school night, remember?"

"I know." Justin rolls his eyes when Charlene isn't looking.

When they get in the car, Justin asks again, "So where're we going?"

"Where do you think we should go?"

"Did you really come here with no idea what we were gonna do?"

"I have ideas," Alex says, feeling oddly defensive.

"Like what?"

"We could go to Canada's Wonderland." Alex shrugs.

Justin smirks, but it's more like a smile he's trying to hide. "Okay, that's not a terrible idea..."

While Alex drives, Justin searches through Alex's collection of cassettes in the glove box. "You listen to your own music?" Justin frowns upon the discovery of a few Rush cassettes.

"Why not? I like our music."

Justin doesn't seem to have a good answer for that. He continues rifling through the tapes.

"What kind of music do you like?" Alex asks, hoping to learn something about his own son with whom he feels disturbingly out of sync.

"Rock, I guess. Metal. But my parents don't like it."

"I thought your mom was obsessed with my band."

"Well, yeah, but the stuff I like—Iron Maiden, Metallica, Megadeth, Slayer—she thinks are all devil-worshippers, so she won't let me listen to them."

"But you do," Alex says, because he remembers what he was like at Justin's age, and parents forbidding something only makes it more enticing.

"Duh. My friend Robbie has cool parents, so I listen at his house."

Alex wonders why Charlene—once a former groupie for bands once heralded as Satan worshippers in their time—became, as Justin would put it, 'super lame.'

"You like The Cult?" Justin says, showcasing a tape of Sonic Temple.

"Yeah."

"Cool." Justin pushes the tape into the deck, and they listen for a bit. Alex realizes with stark horror he has no idea how to be a father to this kid. The best he can hope to achieve is the role of Cool Uncle, part of the family yet not required to discipline or parent, just a set of eyes to make sure Justin stays out of trouble and unharmed.

"So... you're gay, huh?" Justin wonders, staring out the window. "What's that like?"

Alex wants to say something snarky, but he can tell the kid's just trying to make conversation. "It's hard sometimes. We don't get a lot of respect or sensitivity. But when I'm with Neil, none of it seems to matter."

"How'd you meet him?"

"The band was just starting out, so we played a lot of clubs and bars. We were doing a show in St. Catharines, which is where Neil lived before we moved in together. He came up to me when it was over and started talking with me. We had a few drinks. I liked him. After that, we talked on the phone for a while 'til I saved up enough money from gigs to actually visit him again."

"Cool," Justin says, most likely so Alex will shut up.

A realization occurs to Alex. "Hey, are you gonna be okay? Y'know, with your... condition?"

"I'll be fine. I just can't do gym class."

"I bet you're happy about that."

Justin sort of shrugs. "I liked playing basketball."

"Oh yeah?" Alex isn't much of an athlete—sometimes he plays tennis, but that was mostly for Neil's benefit back in the day (he's quite a looker in tennis shorts). He figures the kid gets his athleticism from Charlene's side of the family. "Are you any good?"

"I'm okay, I guess. I didn't get to try out for the team 'cause I got sick."

"Maybe next year," Alex says, trying to be hopeful.

But Justin's not buying it. "I won't last that long. If you weren't a match, I'm probably screwed."

"Don't say that." The kid's only fourteen—he's not supposed to feel completely hopeless and run down by the world for at least two more years. "Neil could be a match. I think he might be perfect. A-positive, right? I just have to convince him."

Justin sort of scoffs. "He doesn't even know me. Why would he do that?"

"Because it's the right thing to do. And you're my son, so that makes you his too by proxy."

"Do you have any other kids?"

Alex feels wounded, like that's a dig at his promiscuity, the accusation Neil made last night, but he has to remind himself Justin doesn't mean it that way. "No."

"Why not?"

"We wanted to focus on our careers. We didn't think it would be fair to have a kid and always be gone, y'know?"

"I guess."

They follow the highway through privileged neighborhoods, viridian golf courses and luxury high-rise apartments on either side. Justin stares out the window, his expression unreadable.

"What kind of stuff do you like?" Alex asks, hoping he's not as clueless as he sounds.

Another shrug. "Video games. TV. Movies. Music. Books."

"I guess I meant: what do you do in your free time?"

"I write stuff."

"Like stories?"

"I guess. They're kind of dumb, though."

"Who told you that?"

"My dad. He says it's a waste of time to write 'gruesome filth,' and then when I tell him Stephen King does it and makes millions of dollars he gets mad and storms off."

Alex frowns. "Well, your dad's wrong. You have to spend time doing stuff to get good at it. Nobody's born amazing at anything. And if you're having fun, you're not wasting time."

Justin smiles weakly.

"So you write horror stories?"

"Yeah," Justin says, shifting in his seat, like he expects Alex to judge him for the subject matter.

"You and Neil would probably get along. He's a writer too."

"What kind of books does he write?"

"Nonfiction. He writes about his travels to other countries."

"Do you think you could get him to read one of my stories? I wanna see what he thinks."

"What about one of your English teachers?"

"I'd get in trouble 'cause it's not 'school-appropriate.'"

"Oh, right. Well, Neil's not too happy with me lately, so I don't think I should be asking him any favors. I could read it, if you want. I know I'm not a writer, but I'm a reader."

Justin shifts in his seat. "Yeah, but you're my father, so you'd probably feel like you have to say something nice."

Alex thinks there's a time and place for constructive criticism, usually after adolesence when your hormones aren't all over the place. So, yeah, he probably would give Justin saccharine words of encouragement, because it's all to easy to break the creative spirit for a beginner.

"Maybe, yeah. How'd you get into horror?"

"One time I went to the library after school, and my mom was out of town on business, so my dad was s'posed to pick me up, but he forgot, so I ended up reading The Shining until the library closed."

"Wait, he completely forgot you?" Alex sort of gasps, sidetracked by this revelation.

"Yeah, he was at work, I guess, and I didn't know his work number. So I just went home."

"Did he know you were at the library?"

"Yeah, that's always where I wait for him after school. He doesn't get off work 'til an hour after school's out. And the bus doesn't go to where I live."

"I hope your mom had a talk with him about forgetting you."

"I didn't tell her. They fight a lot. Or they did 'til he left." Justin says this like it's no big deal, something to be expected.

Alex shakes his head. "None of the stuff they fight about is your fault. I need you to know that. Even if you hear them talk about you, it's not _about_ you, y'know?"

"They'd probably be happier if I wasn't around."

"I guarantee you're the best thing to ever happen to your mom. Your dad too. He just doesn't realize it."

"What were your parents like when you were a kid?"

"They were good. I never told them I was gay, but I think my mom knew. My dad wouldn't have understood, but he was still a decent guy. I don't think he would have stopped loving me if he knew."

"So they still don't know?"

"I told them eventually. But definitely not when I lived with them."

Justin gets him talking about the band—places they've been on tour, weirdest experiences and the like—which lasts until they reach the amusement park.

They're sitting in the chair swing when Alex remembers he hates thrill rides. But it's too late to get off; the swing spins in a wide circle, tilting and swooping. Justin seems to enjoy hurtling through the air; Alex fears he'll slip out of the chair and plummet to the ground, a bloody mash on the concrete.

A solid worry rises above the nausea. Could Neil have more in common with Justin than Alex does? Not only do they share a blood type, but they share an affinity for writing and stressing out their guardian angels. It seems so egregiously unfair that Neil could have these common interests with Justin when he doesn't even want to acknowledge the kid's existence.

They land, and Alex stumbles off the ride. "When was the last time you were here?" he asks Justin, trying to regain his equilibrium as they walk to the next attraction.

"Probably when I was eight, I guess. I don't really remember. It was a long time ago." Justin looks around at the concession stands and towering roller coasters. "They added a bunch of new stuff since last time."

The air smells of corn dogs and funnel cakes. They pass by a store with bags of cotton candy on display.

"What do you usually do with your parents? For fun, I mean."

"Nothing, really. I go with Mom to the store, then I go to a friend's house."

"The store? As in grocery shopping?"

"Yeah, she doesn't really have time to do it on the weekdays."

Jesus. Alex decides he's going to make this kid's life bearable, at least for the time being.

They ride roller coasters that twist and turn and loop at dizzying speeds. After the first two, Alex has enough courage to keep his eyes open. He wonders if this is how Neil feels during his motorcycle journeys, whipped by the wind, toeing the tenuous line of his own mortality.

While the sun sets over the park, they eat beneath the shade of a pavilion. Justin devours two corn dogs and a funnel cake with ease, while Alex struggles with an order of poutine. Justin reaches over and snags some fries. "I'm helping," he says, his mouth half full.

"Is your mom much of a cook?" Alex asks.

Justin shakes his head. "She can make stuff, but she doesn't really cook, y'know?"

Alex nods. "I have at least ten different recipes for macaroni and cheese."

"Can you bake?"

"Yeah. I do it all," he chuckles. "I'm a regular Julia Childs."

"Aw, man, could I stay over sometime?"

"I'd have to ask your mom."

"She'll say yes," Justin assures him.

"Well, I'll still ask, just to be sure. But we don't really have a guest room. I mean, we did, but we made it into an office for Neil."

"Do you have a basement? I'll just sleep there."

Alex doesn't like the idea of relegating his own son to sleeping in a cold basement. It's not like the basement is set up to be a lounge or a man-cave, as John would call it. It's a makeshift studio, not the best place for sleeping, though Alex has done so on occasion.

"I could take the basement, and you could stay in my room. Since it doesn't seem like Neil's gonna join me there any time soon." Alex mutters the last part, but Justin seems to hear it, since his expression grows somewhat sad.

Alex keeps a careful eye on his wristwatch, tracking the time as the sun sets. They go on one more ride, a behemoth of a roller coaster, and from so high up Alex sees the sparkle and twinkle of city lights for miles.

Alex gets Justin home before ten. Charlene greets him at the door with a tired smile. "Thank you," she says, and Alex gives her a terse nod, still an unwilling participant in their forced camaraderie.

"He wants to stay over at my place sometime. Maybe the weekend? Is that okay, or..."

Charlene looks relieved. "Oh, please do. That would help me out so much," she says, placing a hand on his arm. Alex jerks away slightly.

 _I'm doing it for him,_ he thinks, _not you._

"So I guess I'll come by tomorrow. Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel."

Charlene stares at him with fondness. "You would've made a great dad."

Would have. Like his time to be a father has run out, and he'll always be delegated to the role of an imposter father, an uncle trying to ascend to Dad Tier.

Is it too late for him?

Alex nods again. "I'll see you."

* * *

The house is dark and quiet when Alex makes it back home. As much as Alex wants to give Neil space and time to sort this mess out, he ought to let him know he'll be bringing Justin around tomorrow. That seems like a hell of a thing to just drop on your spouse.

Alex climbs the stairs and knocks on the door to Neil's home office. He can see slivers of light peeking out from underneath the door, so he knows Neil's in there and awake.

"Come in," Neil says, crisply.

He's still mad.

Alex would have to be an idiot to think otherwise, but he'd been holding out hope Neil might have softened in the last twenty-four hours. Alex takes a breath and opens the door.

The office is lit with a soft glow by a lamp on the blonde wood desk. The bamboo blinds are drawn, shutting out the moonlight. Neil sits at his desk, hunched over the typewriter. Yes, even in this modern age of computers, Neil still writes on a typewriter, like he thinks he's John Steinbeck or F. Scott Fitzgerald, plunking out the next great literary novel.

The walls are bare, save for some floating shelves displaying encyclopedias Neil references on occasion. There are a few framed photographs too: a small picture of Neil's parents, and three photos of Neil and Alex at various stages in their relationship. One is from Christmas 1976; Alex is wearing a cable-knit pink sweater, his arm slung around Neil's shoulders. The second was taken sometime in 1980 at Neil's parents' farmhouse in St. Catharines; judging by their shorts and t-shirts, it must have been during the summer. The third is a more recent picture, taken by Geddy while the band was in Vancouver for their Hold Your Fire tour in 1988. Neil had been in the area, and the four of them had dinner at a restaurant near the coast after the show. Alex looks half-drunk in the photo, his cheeks flushed from wine and excitement; Neil wears his usual grimace of a smile he can't seem to shed in photographs, but now it feels foreboding somehow, as though he's lost his enthusiasm for Alex over the years.

Nonsense. Alex knows Neil's just godawful at having his picture taken, always looking like he wants to leave, his smile never quite reaching his eyes.

Alex steps inside the office, sitting on the edge of the beige sectional on the other side of the small room. "How's it going?"

"Slowly. As it tends to," Neil grumbles.

"Did you have dinner? I can make something if you—"

"I already ate."

"Oh. Okay." Not much point in keeping the small talk going when Neil's cutting him off at the pass. Alex squeezes his eyes shut, opens them. "I just wanted to let you know I'm bringing Justin over tomorrow. He's a good kid. You'd like him. He's a writer too."

Neil turns in his chair to face Alex. "It's not going to work. You're bringing him here so I can meet him and see him as an actual person instead of some abstract concept."

Alex's face scrunches up in protest. "You can avoid us. Stay up here, or go out and do something. I'm trying to make this easier on you."

"Well, thanks for your consideration."

Feeling bruised, Alex stands up and murmurs, "Goodnight," before leaving Neil alone with his anger.


	5. Chapter 5

"I admit, I went a little overboard."

Alex and Justin stand in Alex's humongous kitchen. Plates of brownies and cookies are spread across the counter and kitchen island. Justin's still amazed by the size of the house, so he hasn't really had much time to take in Alex's apparent baking obsession.

"I wasn't sure if you preferred brownies or cookies, so I made both," Alex says. "Have as many as you want, but, y'know, be reasonable."

Justin samples a cookie, chewing thoughtfully. "Not bad." Alex can tell he's holding back, trying to play it cool. This doesn't stop Justin from going in for a second cookie after he finishes the first.

"Is your husband at work?" Justin wonders, since Neil has not made an appearance.

"Yeah, he's upstairs in his office."

"Should I go say hi?"

"I don't know if that's a good idea. He's a bit of a grump lately."

"Oh." Justin looks momentarily disappointed. "Well, maybe we could bring him some brownies later."

"He's not big on sweets."

"Jeez, why'd you even marry this guy?"

Alex wants to say they're not officially married, but it doesn't matter much for the purposes of this discussion. "'Cause I love him."

"I guess that makes sense," Justin says in a way that conveys it makes absolutely no sense.

Alex leads him downstairs to the basement-turned-studio. Justin marvels at all the equipment. "Wow. How many guitars do you have?"

"Too many," Alex says with a chuckle. He retrieves a weathered acoustic guitar from one of the many cases shelved in the room. "So since you're just starting out, I'll let you learn on an older one. That guitar's been around the block a few times; I recorded the acoustic bits of 'Closer to the Heart' on that."

Justin cocks an eyebrow, warily taking the guitar in his hands as Alex passes it to him. "And you're letting me use it?"

"The only thing you really run the risk of breaking are the strings, which is an easy fix. Don't worry about it." Alex fetches himself a newer model. They sit on the couch, facing each other. Alex notes that Justin is right-handed, just like himself. He hesitates, unsure how to break down the intricacies of music for a beginner.

"Um, how much do you know?" Alex wonders if he sounds as dumb as he thinks he does. "I mean, do you know which strings are which? Or the basic chords?"

"I know the strings and how to count the frets, but I've never actually played."

"All theory, no practice. Alright, I can work with that. I think. Bear with me, I've never actually taught this before. Well, I've never taught anyone anything."

Alex shows him a rundown of a few simple chords—A, D, and G—and watches Justin replicate the hand positions. He's a quick learner, so Alex demonstrates other chords utilizing those same finger placements. Then it's on to the rest of the chord alphabet. Justin seems to retain the information, but it takes him a couple seconds to remember which fingers go where when Alex challenges his memory.

"How do you remember all this?" Justin wonders.

"It sort of becomes second nature after a while."

"I mean songs. Some of you guys's songs are like, half an hour. How do you remember all that stuff?"

"Repetition," Alex says, but he isn't really sure if that's a good answer. "And writing the music helps. It came from your brain, so it's easier to remember. I dunno, how do you remember the words to a song? You listen to it over and over, right? It's sort of like that, but instead of words it's notes and chord progressions."

"How come you quit the band?" Justin asks.

"I didn't want to. But the other guys had families they missed, and it just seemed like the right time."

"So what're you gonna do now?"

"I don't know." Alex sighs. "I wanted to start a family, but Neil and I are in the middle of a big argument, so I don't know if that's on the table anymore."

"What'd you fight about?" There's a worried edge to Justin's voice, like he thinks he may be the root cause of Alex and Neil's marital problems.

"Something that happened to me a long time ago that I never told him about."

"Did you have an affair?"

Alex looks stunned.

"That's usually what grown-ups fight about," Justin says by way of explanation; Alex is slightly terrified how he knows that: from personal experience, or something less damaging, like overhearing his friends' parents' problems, or seeing that drama played out on TV.

"Something like that..." Alex will never tell Justin the truth about his conception. No matter how much he resents Charlene, Alex couldn't burden the kid with that knowledge.

They practice a little while longer. Alex teaches Justin the simpler parts of 'Force Ten,' then they head back upstairs for lunch.

"Don't put tomatoes on mine," Justin says, watching Alex stack vegetables and meats and cheeses on bread. "Are you gonna make one for your husband? He might be hungry." Justin is so much more thoughtful than Alex expected.

"He's still mad at me."

"Nobody can stay mad when there's free food." Wise words.

Alex makes a third sandwich and brings it upstairs to Neil's office. "Knock knock," Alex says as he opens the door. "Thought you might be hungry." He sets the plate on Neil's desk. Neil looks at the sandwich; a toothpick sticks out of the top at a jaunty angle, spearing through an olive.

"Thanks."

Alex lingers for a moment, but this seems to be all Neil's going to say on the subject, so he slips out of the room and goes downstairs.

"Well?" Justin has discovered the cans of Slice soda in the fridge, having already opened one.

"He took the sandwich."

"Told you." Justin takes another bite. "Mom can't make stuff like this."

"Your mom can't make a sandwich?" Alex fears for the boy's well-being if Charlene isn't capable of that.

"Yeah, but they're lame. Yours is all fancy. How'd you learn how to make stuff like this?"

Alex shrugs. "I like food, so if I'm gonna eat I want it to be good. And when we'd go on tour, there were so many long flights, I got to read a lot of magazines with recipes and stuff like that. I'd make note of things to try. And going to different cities all over the world introduced me to food I'd never heard of here."

After lunch, they go back downstairs for more guitar practice. Alex teaches Justin as many riffs as he can before the kid's fingers start to blister and peel.

"Ow, damn it," Justin grumbles, picking at the flaked skin.

"Don't worry. You practice enough and you get calluses. And lose all sensation in your fingertips."

Justin gives him a worried look.

"I'm joking," Alex snickers. "But only a little." He packs up his own guitar. "Hey, why don't you just take that one home? It's not like I'm using it anymore."

Justin looks thrilled for a half a second, then his eagerness fades, as though reminded of something sad. "No, I don't—My dad would probably be mad."

"Sounds to me like he's not around very much."

"Knowing my luck, I'd take the guitar home and he'd show up tonight."

Alex frowns. "What does your dad do?" he asks, realizing he doesn't actually know.

"Something with money," Justin says with a shrug. "Stock market stuff, I guess."

"Well, okay. We'll keep it here for now. But consider it yours."

"You really don't have to do that."

"Just 'cause I started out on a shitty $13 guitar doesn't mean you have to. Besides, you're my kid, right?"

Justin glances away, uneasy from the admission. "You swear you never came around 'cause you didn't know?"

It takes Alex a moment to untangle that mess of a sentence and find Justin's intentions. "I swear. I've wanted to be a dad since... well, for a really long time. If I knew I had a kid, I would've been there."

"But Mom only told you 'cause I got sick."

"She's trying to help find a donor."

"I know, but if I never got sick, you wouldn't even know I exist."

A harrowing thought. Alex swallows back the lump in his throat. "Maybe, maybe not. No point in dwelling on it, right?"

They pack away the guitars and head up to the ground floor. A noise sounds from upstairs, wooden stairs creaking under footsteps. Alex and Justin turn in the direction of the sound. Neil's coming downstairs, carrying dishes from lunch, and Alex has no idea what to expect.

"Hey," Justin says, breaking the ice. "You're the husband, right? Nate?"

"Neil," he corrects gently.

"Right. Sorry."

"And you must be Josh."

"Justin."

"Right. Sorry."

Alex watches the back-and-forth, unsure if he should step in or let them fumble through the awkward introductions.

Neil approaches the two of them, eyeing Justin with suspicion. There is pain on his face. "You certainly look like Alex's son."

"Thanks, I guess," Justin says.

Neil looks at Alex, wearing an indecipherable expression. He steps into the kitchen and sets the dishes in the sink.

"Just leave it," Alex says. "I'll make dinner and clean up when I get back from dropping Justin off." For a brief moment, it's as though they are a proper family, negotiating the minutia of their daily lives, and before Alex can revel in the feeling it's gone as quickly as it came.

"I'm not hungry."

Alex sighs. This is a disruption of their routine, and in denying the gesture of dinner Neil is refusing Alex's attempts at normalcy and apology.

"Okay, well, don't worry about it, then." Alex nods meekly despite Neil being turned away from him.

"Oh, hey!" Justin blurts out. He grabs his backpack from one of the chairs in the dining room and rummages through it. "I heard you're a writer, so if you have time, could you read over something I wrote?" He pulls out a Ninja Turtles spiral notebook and flips to a dog-eared set of pages. He hands the notebook to Neil, looking sheepish. "It's not a huge deal or anything, but I thought maybe you could give me some advice. When you have time."

Panic seizes Alex, and he hopes Neil will be civil here, that he won't take out his anger and frustration at Alex out on Justin. He doesn't know if it would be better to present Justin's work himself, or if Justin showing it to him will melt Neil's stone-cold heart.

Neil stares at the notebook for a moment, glances at Justin, then says, "Okay," his expression indecipherable.

"Thanks!" Justin sounds as relieved as Alex feels.

"C'mon, kid," Alex says, clapping a hand on Justin's shoulder. "Let's get you home."

On the way to Charlene's house, Justin says, "Neil doesn't like me very much, huh?" He's pretty intuitive if he picked up on that through Neil's polite facade.

"He's just angry at me," Alex explains. "And he's not really great at social interactions even on a good day. He's shy."

"My parents just yell at each other when they're mad."

Hearing that breaks Alex's heart. He wishes Charlene had told him about Justin when he was born. Maybe he could have adopted the kid and raised him with Neil, bypassing all of this fuckery.

"I'm sorry you have to hear that," Alex says.

"I usually just put headphones on." Justin stares out the window. "I wish I lived with you."

Alex feels a hand reach inside and squeeze his heart. "How come?"

"'Cause at least you'd pay attention to me. Mom's usually always at work, and when she's not she's busy with work stuff. Dad's gone, and I don't have any brothers or sisters."

"Maybe you should tell your mom all of this. She might not know what you're feeling." Despite his bitterness, Alex knows he should give Charlene the benefit of the doubt. She's probably changed after fifteen years. Alex knows he has; this time, he'd fight back. "Can you get in touch with your dad?"

"He's staying at a hotel or something. And I asked Mom if I could call him, but she said 'that motherfucker can call us himself.'"

"She really shouldn't be using that language around you."

Justin rolls his eyes. "I'm fourteen. I know what it means."

"That's kind of beside the point. He's your dad. Regardless how much of a motherfucker he may or may not be, you still have the right to talk to him."

"How come you can say it?"

"'Cause I'm not your dad. I'm just the guy who slept with your mom."

"Let's maybe stop talking about this."

"Good idea."

They drive the rest of the way without another word, listening to a Rush cassette that found its way into the tape deck. It's Hemispheres, and Alex feels inexplicably sad listening to the title track.

"How come all your old music was so weird and long?" Justin asks, breaking Alex from his reverie.

"We smoked a lot of pot back then."

"Does pot really make you more creative?"

"I think that's a misconception. You can't force creativity. And, really, the key is just shutting up your inner critic so you can think of ideas without immediately dismissing them for being stupid," Alex says. "Besides, sometimes stupid ideas can be good. Stephen King wrote a whole book about a killer clown. On paper, that sounds kind of stupid."

"I couldn't sleep for two days after I watched It. But I was scared of clowns before."

"It's the face painting. It hides their true expression, which makes you uneasy."

Justin gives him a "how the hell do you know this" look.

"Neil told me that. He's pretty smart. He knows a little about a lot of things."

They reach Justin's house, and Alex parks on the street. Justin hesitates for a moment, then: "You'll show up tomorrow, right?"

Alex remembers how Justin's father forgot to pick him up from the library and feels his heart sink. "Yeah, of course. You're my kid."

Justin nods, accepting this answer. "Okay, see you." He gets out of the car and jogs up the walkway to his house. He lets himself in with a key, and Alex waits until he's safely inside before driving away.

* * *

Alex makes it home to find Neil cleaning up the kitchen.

"I said you didn't have to do that," Alex says, making sure to keep his tone casual, not accusatory.

"It seemed like the thing to do. And I needed a break."

"Are you sure you're not hungry? It's not too late for me to start dinner."

Neil shakes his head, drying a plate with a dish towel. He sets the plate aside and fixes Alex with a serious look. "If Rush were still together, would you even be bothering with all of this?"

"All of what?"

"This whole kidney thing. Trying to be a dad."

"He's my son," Alex argues, because how is Neil not getting that?

"But you're not his dad. You're just a sperm donor."

Alex shuts his eyes. "You're mad I brought him here. I'm sorry, but this is my house too."

"You're doing all of this because you're bored. If you had an actual project to work on, you wouldn't be pushing your way into this kid's life like you're part of it. He already has a dad."

"A dad who bailed on him and has a history of being unreliable."

"None of which is on you."

Alex wants to shoot back with something scathing, pointing out that since Neil's squandering his matching kidney Alex might as well give the kid a nice life before he dies, but they don't need another argument.

"Look, just give me 'til the end of the week, okay?" Alex pleads.

Neil knows Alex well enough to know it won't end there, that Alex will keep moving the goalpost until presented with an ultimatum. But he just says, "Okay. The end of the week."


	6. Chapter 6

"I'm sorry, Neil, but Anthem just isn't looking for any more non-fiction."

Neil's sitting across from his agent, Jackie, at her swanky high-rise Toronto office. He feels his world detach from its moorings, the sickening sensation of movement under his feet.

"What are you talking about?" he says in a tiny voice he barely recognizes as his own.

Jackie sighs a short, sad sound, flipping through the manuscript Neil delivered to her just five minutes ago. "All this travel writing... It's not bringing in the big bucks anymore. Personally, I love your work, and, if you don't mind, I'm going to devour this tonight while my husband's away on business, but the publisher just isn't interested in this sort of thing anymore."

Neil swallows. The walls are closing in. "But I had a contract. Four years. Four books."

"Books," Jackie says pointedly. "A deal I specifically negotiated for you in the event you wanted to branch out and try something new, but also giving Anthem a bit of wiggle room in what they're looking for."

"Then what _are_ they looking for?"

"Novels. Specifically, thrillers or mysteries or, maybe, try your hand at something steamy."

Neil makes a face.

Jackie puts her hands up. "I'm just saying. Sci-fi movies are popular now. Maybe something like that, or even fantasy, to cash in on the Dungeons and Dragons crowd."

So basically anything but what Neil's been doing the last fifteen years. Awesome.

"What's stopping you from turning this"—Jackie jabs a finger against the manuscript—"into a novel?"

Neil can't even begin to explain what's wrong with that idea, but he's going to have to try. "As a novel, it meanders. There isn't the standard rise and fall of action you expect in a narrative story."

"So just do a bit of rewriting."

He shakes his head. "That tramples all over the integrity of the work. I wrote that as a chronicle of my travels through Africa. To retool it as something else just to appeal to a different demographic... That feels unauthentic to me."

"Okay, well, maybe you can come up with something before the end of the year."

"And that's all I have to do? Just write a novel?"

"Harder than it sounds, sure, but I know you can pull it off." Jackie smiles.

Neil feels like he's sinking into quicksand.

When he gets to his car, he allows himself a few moments of hyperventilation and panic, folded over the steering wheel in childlike terror. What the hell is he going to do? Neil has never written a novel before, at least nothing like what his publisher is expecting. He only has about nine months to turn in a fully-fledged novel—50,000 words at the bare minimum. But that doesn't account for creating characters who feel lifelike and real, a storyline that engages, challenges, and surprises the reader, themes that don't come across as preachy or forced.

In Neil's non-fiction, all of this was provided for him. The characters were himself, who he knows very well, and the occasional local color he met along the way. The storyline was the journey he took, and the themes became apparent as he wrote.

Creating all of this from nothing is a daunting task, and none of it accounts for what happens if he fails, if he manages to produce something lackluster and cliché. What, then, will he do?

Normally, Neil would immediately seek out Alex for his advice and consolation, but Alex is teaching his "son" how to drive today, and Neil is still too upset to consider him as a sounding board.

Neil's second choice confidant would be John, but since he'd also like to bitch and moan about Alex's transgressions, going to John seems unwise. John has known Alex since they were kids, so his loyalties lie first and foremost with Alex.

Neil calls his friend and fellow motorcycle enthusiast, Brutus. They met ten years ago when Neil took his bike in to Brutus' shop for repairs. The two became fast friends, bonding over their witty banter and affinity for motorcycles.

The shop is slow on a Wednesday afternoon, so Brutus invites him over for a chat. The interior of the shop is rustic and woodsy, made of logs and polished wood. The smell of leather and pine fills Neil's nose.

Brutus opens the mini-fridge tucked beneath the counter and hands Neil an ice cold bottle of black cherry Original New York Seltzer, his usual. Neil only drinks it when he's with Brutus, not particularly fond of the beverage outside the confines of their friendship, like it's their little secret. And Brutus has kept the fridge stocked with a six-pack, solely for when Neil stops by. It's a tiny secret, something Alex doesn't know, and now Neil feels justified in keeping it from him.

"So what's the problem?" Brutus asks, popping off the metal top of a root beer bottle. "Husband trouble?" Despite looking like an American Deep South redneck, Brutus is surprisingly progressive, not even batting an eye when Neil told him about Alex years ago.

Neil shrugs. "Half and half."

"What's the other half?"

Neil runs down the publisher dilemma.

Brutus wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his leather jacket. "Oh, you and your _integrity_." He says it like it's a dirty word. "You gotta compromise if you wanna get anywhere. Just rework the damn book and make it a novel. No one'll know the difference."

"I will."

Brutus scoffs. "So? From what I know about creative people—and my wife is one, so hush—they've all got at least one stinker under their belt. Maybe this is yours. There's no shame in it. You can't get straight As all the time; just take the B-minus and move on."

Neil feels a pang at the mention of As and Bs, the impending decision of organ donation still hovering in his mind. "Let's say I do. What if it's no good? Since Alex is retired—for now, at least—it's my turn to make the money. Alex has been the breadwinner since we got together, pretty much. My books have made a decent amount, but not enough for us both to live comfortably. And that's when I'm writing at my best; now I'm supposed to write in a whole new genre."

"You'll get the hang of it," Brutus says, taking a drink. "Maybe it'll take a couple books to hammer out, but—"

"You think Alex will just let me figure it out while I'm not bringing in money?"

"He's your husband." Brutus shrugs. "And, sorry, but wasn't he part of a pretty popular rock group? I think he's sitting pretty on at least a million bucks. You'll be fine."

"It's not so much about the money," Neil admits. "It's what the money represents: contribution, being able to provide. I don't think he expects me to make the money he's been making. That would be ludicrous. But if I'm just failing and struggling year after year, he might start looking elsewhere..."

Brutus tilts his head, inquisitive. "That have anything to do with your marital troubles?"

Neil shrugs lamely, rubbing his thumb over the condensation prickling on his drink. "It's a whole hell of a lot to take in."

Brutus spreads his hands. "Look around. I got nothin' but time."

So Neil tells him everything.

Brutus sighs when Neil's finished. "I think you're being too hard on the guy. It was fifteen years ago. Were you two even together back then?"

Neil nods. "It was very new."

"Well, there's your answer. And don't forget about the whole groupie thing. That's pretty powerful for a young guy who was probably too shy to talk to girls in school."

"He's supposed to be gay," Neil says, his voice slightly sour with offense.

"Is that what you're mad about? Would you feel better if he cheated with a dude instead of a chick?"

"I would feel better if he had worn a condom and not sprung a kid on me fifteen years later."

"Fair enough. You gonna leave him, then?"

Neil feels like he's been punched. The idea of living without Alex terrifies him. "I don't—I don't know."

"So you forgive him?"

"I don't know. He's trying to be a dad to this kid, which I might understand if his own father was never around, but he wants me to donate my kidney to the fruit of his betrayal—"

Brutus makes a face. "'Fruit of his betrayal'? Jesus, I didn't know anyone talked like that outside of an Anne Rice novel."

Neil doesn't really have a defense for that one. "I guess that's the part that upsets me most. Because by urging me to be the donor, it's like he wants me to embrace his mistake instead of forgiving it."

"And 'it' is a fourteen-year-old boy who's dying of kidney failure?"

Neil scowls at the appeal to emotion. "You and Alex must've had the same debate teacher."

Brutus ignores him.

"I just... don't want to be pressured to donate in order to save my marriage. It feels like he's giving me an ultimatum, and if I say no he'll never forgive me. Then suddenly I'm the asshole."

"He just wants to save his kid," Brutus says simply.

"Yeah, _his_ kid. Not ours. Not one we agreed to adopt or have through a surrogate. Not even one he had from a previous relationship that I knew about going in. He finds out he has a teenage son fifteen years after cheating on me, and his first thought is 'hey, give him your kidney.'"

Brutus takes another drink. "It's kind of sweet. He probably knew you'd be pissed, but he cares more about his kid than what you think of him."

True, one of the things Neil finds most attractive about Alex is his capacity for caring, his willingness to feel for afflictions that aren't even his own. But this seems like a bit much, since he's asking Neil to do most of the heavy lifting.

Brutus taps his fingers against the neck of the bottle. "How come you and Alex never had kids?"

"We were too busy to do it right. But..." Neil shakes his head, as though shaking away the thought.

"What?"

"It was sort of a mutual agreement we had, but over the last two years Alex has brought it up a lot, like maybe he thinks I'll change my mind about waiting."

Something comes over Neil, a dark cloud of realization, and Brutus voices it.

"So you know he wants to be a dad. That's why he's getting so involved in this boy's life and trying to save it. Maybe he thinks it's the only chance he'll get to raise a kid, 'cause you keep saying no."

Neil has never considered this possibility, that maybe in postponing their family's expansion he has pushed Alex toward bonding with this child he has merely a genetic claim to and nothing more. All of Alex's bandmates have children born in the early years of their marriages; it makes a painful amount of sense that Alex would see their growing families and yearn for the same.

"I know you're hung up on the cheating," Brutus says, "but you gotta let it go. It was one time. He was probably just curious what it was like, being with a woman. Maybe he did use a condom, but it broke and he never knew about it 'til now."

Neil sees how, from an outsider's perspective, all of this sounds solvable and petty.

Brutus continues, "I've been married to the same woman for twenty years. It ain't easy, and it involves a hell of a lot of compromise, but I think you'll be happier for it. There's a reason you stayed with him so long."

Because Neil loves Alex. That love has never wavered, even in the face of these obstacles. It's not something he can turn off to make dealing with Alex's dishonesty easier. And he can't turn off the quiet fear that this isn't the only time Alex has cheated, just the only time he's had to face consequences.

Brutus has certainly given Neil a lot to think about. Neil tosses his nearly-empty bottle into the trash. "Thanks for the advice. I should get going. Hope you don't mind."

Brutus waves a hand. "Don't worry about it. I'm happy to help."

When Neil makes it home, Alex isn't back yet. He heads upstairs to his office. The typewriter is suddenly terrifying, and Neil doesn't know how the fuck he's going to come up with a novel out of thin air. He collapses into his chair, feeling defeated and bruised.

On the corner of the desk sits Justin's notebook, boasting colorful cartoon turtles on the cover. Reading certainly beats actually writing, and maybe looking at a piece with a critical eye will help him excavate his own ideas.

Neil takes the notebook, flipping past math and chemistry notes and pages of doodles until he finds the dog-eared pages.

He begins to read.

* * *

Neil's in the kitchen searching for a quick post-shower meal around seven when Alex comes through the front door with Justin in tow. They're laughing about something, and Neil is momentarily warmed by Alex's infectious laughter.

"Hey," Alex says to him, approaching Neil like he's a dangerous zoo animal. "Did you eat yet?" He can clearly see Neil's staring into the fridge, so this is an ice-breaker, a way for them to have a civil conversation.

"No," Neil answers. He doesn't trust himself to say more.

"Well, how 'bout I make dinner for the three of us? I told Justin he could stay for dinner. I've been bragging about my cooking, so I ought'a put up or shut up, huh?"

Neil nods, remembering the reasons why Alex is so invested in this. "That'll be fine." He looks at Justin. "I read over your story. Well, stories. There were a few in there."

Justin blanches. "Aw, man, some of those kinda suck."

"Let me give you back your notebook. I made a few notes and corrections." Neil fetches the book from upstairs and delivers it to Justin. "I used a blue pen, because I remember getting papers back in school, and the red ink felt like a reprimand of my entire existence."

Justin chuckles in agreement, flipping open the notebook to read over Neil's additions. He sits at the dining table, enthralled.

Alex, meanwhile, grins at Neil in that way of his when he's trying to hide how happy he is. This is a big step for Neil, and Alex clearly appreciates the effort. "Thank you," Alex murmurs, moving closer. He reaches out for Neil's hand. Neil lets him take it.

Neil stays quiet over dinner, listening to Alex and Justin talk about music and sports. If he pretends, this could be his family. Justin could grow to see Neil as a father figure, then almost as quickly as it all began he'd be off to university, and Alex would miss raising a child, so the two of them would begin again, starting over with a newborn.

Neil can almost see that future in his mind's eye, and the part of him that isn't angry and afraid wants it dearly.

And Alex, oh God, Alex. What must he be going through now, faced with the result of a past transgression, a dying son who he has only just met? This can't be easy for him, either, and Neil feels like a dick for taking so long to consider Alex's own turmoil.

While Alex takes Justin home, Neil cleans up the kitchen and retreats upstairs to his office. He flips through old, unpublished manuscripts in his desk drawers, searching for something he can patch up into a sellable novel. But he discarded these ideas for a reason, and he doubts the concepts will grip him enough to write them as they need to be written.

Disheartened, Neil tips back in his chair and stares at the ceiling. Is he washed-up already? The Masked Rider will be only his sixth book. Or at least it would have been. That sounds like a lot to non-writers, but Neil has only written books since 1978; his first professional writing job was for a small Toronto newspaper as a columnist, writing small columns on whatever topic the editors wanted.

It's entirely possible he is not cut out to be a novelist, that writing fiction requires a set of skills he cannot grasp. Neil isn't qualified to do much else; as a high school drop-out, he lacks the necessary credentials for proper, respectable work. At his age, starting from the bottom of the ladder, working alongside teenagers at their first jobs, would be an embarrassment, a shameful paragraph in his eventual obituary.

Maybe Brutus could hook him up with a job at the motorcycle shop.

Two brisk knocks snap Neil from his reverie. Alex cracks open the door and sticks his head inside. "Hey, I know you're busy, but I just wanted to thank you."

Neil gives him a tight smile and a brisk nod.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine. I just... have a lot of work to do."

Alex starts to close the door. "I won't bother you, then." He flashes a smile, one that seems to say, "I'm here for you," and Neil hates himself a little more.


	7. Chapter 7

Neil wakes up on his office couch only half-remembering the night before. An empty decanter of Macallan sits on his desk, evidence of his drowned—or at least waterlogged—sorrows. The desk, chair, and floor are littered with scraps of paper, like flakes of snow, and Neil vaguely recalls tearing up the pages he'd written last night in frustration.

He probably should have kept them intact until the morning so he could look them over with a relatively clear head, but in all likelihood that wouldn't change the contents. Crap is crap, even in the light of day.

Disoriented and still a little drunk, Neil makes careful progress down the stairs to the kitchen. Alex is there making a late breakfast on the stovetop. The sun blares through the many windows, assaulting his bleary eyes, and Neil momentarily feels a deep connection with vampires.

Alex turns around, hearing the slaps of Neil's bare feet against the marble floor. "Rough night?" he says once he gets a look at Neil.

Neil grunts an affirmative noise and searches through the cabinets for the instant coffee. Alex sighs with tenderness, momentarily abandoning his kitchen wizardry to open the refrigerator door and hand Neil a cold can of Sprite.

"Helps for hangovers," he explains.

Neil furrows his brow.

"Hey, bub, you think I haven't figured out a hangover cure in fifteen years of being a rock star?" Alex smirks, sliding back over to the range. He's got a mouthwatering scramble of eggs, cheese, and diced ham in a skillet; Neil remembers the last time Alex made breakfast for them, how their lives were not yet broken by unearthed secrets.

"I suppose you're the expert," Neil says, popping open the can.

They eat together at the dining table in a silence that's almost comfortable. Surprisingly, the Sprite seems to soothe Neil's throbbing hangover, at least allowing him to eat without much bothersome interference.

Alex is halfway through his ridiculously huge breakfast burrito when he says, "I'm bringing Justin over again today. We'll stay out of your way. Don't worry."

"He's not the worst kid you could've had," Neil admits. "Or even the worst guest."

"He's probably on his best behavior. I get the sense his life at home isn't great, so he'd wanna get invited back here." Alex looks like he wants to say more but stops. "Sorry. I shouldn't..."

"Shouldn't what?"

"Sound like I'm trying to manipulate you." Something in the worried pull of his expression says this is a sore spot.

"You're not."

Alex goes quiet for a moment, then: "Any reason you hit the bottle so hard last night?"

Is Alex worried about the viability of Neil's kidney, or simply concerned for his husband's welfare? Neil scolds himself for the cynical thought.

"I know you said you're really busy, but..." Alex trails off, but Neil knows what the rest of that sentence might have been. Neil does not subscribe to the author's cliché of drinking oneself into early liver failure; he rarely drinks, and almost all of his hangovers took place in his younger, more foolish years.

In short: Alex knows something's up.

Now that Neil has a secret of his own, he almost sympathizes with Alex. He can easily understand why Alex would shove aside the dirty secret of his infidelity, would bury it regretfully like a crumpled deer that ran out in front of a car. The act of admitting one's transgressions to another, especially to a trusted confidant, is shameful and fraught with pain. But holding those secrets inside only makes them stronger and more insidious; Neil has seen their explosive nature and wants none of that for himself.

"I, um..." This lack of sufficient words troubles Neil, makes him worry he's losing everything involving the written and spoken word, information falling out of his brain like pieces of shedding plaster. "They don't want the book."

Alex blinks. "Why?"

"Nonfiction isn't a big seller anymore. So I've been told. They want a novel."

Alex doesn't suggest turning The Masked Rider into a novel, which Neil appreciates. Creative people just _get_ it. "Oh. Okay, so you have to start from scratch. They wouldn't ask if they didn't think you could do it."

Neil shakes his head. "I don't think I can. What if I'm really a hack, and I've just gotten lucky the last five times? I'm not a storyteller, Alex. I can't create a compelling piece of fiction."

"Have you tried?"

"What do you think I did last night?" Neil snaps, but he catches himself before he goes too far. "Sorry. I just... I don't think I can come up with a good story by the summer." July had been Neil's goalpost for finishing The Masked Rider and having it go to print. Most of his books take about a year and a half to write, and he'd had a good feeling about this one.

"So take some more time. Sometimes you need a break. Just step away and do something else for a while."

"You wouldn't mind?"

"Of course not. It would be nice to actually spend time with you now that I'm done touring."

"I thought you enjoyed it."

Alex snorts a laugh. "After the first couple shows, it's just agonizing. All that time away, the exhaustion, having to play even when you feel like shit, being homesick... That's why I wanted to wait to have kids. I didn't wanna miss out on their lives by not being there. I heard enough horror stories from Ged and John. Well, not exactly horror, but, y'know, I could tell they missed out on a lot. And I wouldn't trade my job, but it comes with a cost."

Even with Justin's sudden appearance in Alex's life, Alex has still missed out on the kid's first thirteen years. Neil imagines there must be something special in hearing your child's first words, teaching them to walk and run and swim.

Neil wonders how Alex must see him. Is he jealous of Neil's home-oriented work? Does he think Neil is selfish for not wanting children when his job allows him to stay home and raise their potential offspring?

"I don't want you to resent me," Neil says, and hearing these words from his mouth makes him realize how deeply this fear has taken root.

"Why would I?"

"Because if I take your advice and take a break, you might see me as a slacker, or like I'm not pulling my weight."

"You're not a slacker; you're on sabbatical. And I'm telling you to do it, so it wouldn't really be fair for me to get mad at you."

Alex is making an effort here, and if Neil wants to keep their relationship going he ought to meet him halfway. Or at least acknowledge that Alex is trying.

With great effort, Neil reaches out and lays a hand across Alex's own. Alex sort of startles, like he wasn't expecting physical contact. Neil burns from panic and want and the familiar comfort of touching Alex. He wants to twine his fingers with Alex's own and stay that way until everything sorts itself out.

"I still love you," Neil says. "Maybe we're not okay right now, but that doesn't mean we won't ever be." He should say more, but he doesn't have the words. In the most necessary moments, words have not come easily to him lately.

Alex blinks, looking uncharacteristically fragile. The last time Neil has seen Alex like this was at his bedside after the motorcycle accident. "You're staying?"

"Where else would I go?"

Alex shrugs. "You could go on a trip. Take your motorcycle, leave all this behind."

Just the suggestion terrifies Neil. "I'd miss you."

"I thought you hated me."

Is that the impression Neil's given him? Holy shit, he's kind of an asshole. Neil shakes his head. "No, I'm just angry with you. That doesn't mean I hate you or don't want to be with you anymore."

Alex nods, accepting this, and Neil thinks a chasm between them has been bridged, at least to some degree. In time, maybe Neil can forgive Alex for his indiscretions, and they can be a family.

As though unwilling to push for more today, Alex seems to avoid Neil during the rest of the afternoon, but Neil doesn't give him much opportunity to talk. He takes Alex's suggestion and rides his bike around the neighborhood. Exercise is supposed to clear the mind, right? At the very least, it's supposed to give you energy and boost your mood, two things Neil could use right now.

After a shower, he stays in his office and cleans up the scattered flakes of paper, which escalates into reorganizing the books on his shelves into alphabetical order. He takes one of the photographs—the most recent one of himself and Alex—and sets the frame on his desk, a reminder of happier times and a sign that things can be good again.

Someone knocks on the door. "Come in," Neil says, expecting to see Alex's timid smile, but instead he's faced with Justin looking sheepish and shy.

"Hey," Justin says with a hint of nerves. "Thanks again for the notes. And for reading my stuff. And for not telling me it's total crap and that I should stop."

"I would never discourage someone from pursuing a hobby." Neil watches him for a moment. If this kid is going to be part of his and Alex's lives, Neil should try to get to know him, or at least appear less intimidating. "You can come in if you want."

Justin hesitates, worried he might tarnish Neil's private sanctuary with his presence, but he steps inside. He examines the books on the shelves, perhaps scanning the spines for titles he's familiar with.

"How do you decide what to write about?" Neil asks. Maybe a fresh point of view would be beneficial for his sense of creativity.

Justin shrugs, the gesture so much like his father's it squeezes Neil's heart. "Whatever scares me, I guess."

"You're afraid of zombies?" Neil tries to keep the skepticism out of his voice, but it finds its way inside anyway.

"I know they're not real, but the idea of them is scary. Don't you think? I mean, all zombies were people at some point, so you'd be looking at the reanimated corpses of your dead friends and family. And being surrounded by them would be terrifying." He sticks his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "And they're supposed to be a metaphor for how mindless conformity is."

Neil looks surprised.

"I like taking apart horror movies and seeing what they're really about. The monsters always represent something. In a good movie, at least."

"Any more examples?"

"Well, Texas Chainsaw Massacre had that whole cannibalism subplot. It could've been saying something about Vietnam, how soldiers were herded and treated like cattle. Or maybe just how you don't really know what's in your food. And Alien is sort of about rape, 'cause the alien's head looks like a giant dick, and the chestbursters are sort of like being impregnated."

Neil chuckles despite himself. "You seem to have given this a lot of thought."

"It helps to analyze stuff so you can write better. At least that's what my English teacher says."

"True, although sometimes I think people take away more than the author intended. Which can be good or bad, I suppose." Neil finds himself a little endeared to this eager, intelligent kid who shares half of Alex's DNA. "Is there anything you've wanted to write about but never really found the right way to tell the story?"

Another shrug. "No, I just sort of do it," Justin says. "Even if it sucks, at least I did it. And I can always go back and fix it later."

"I was kind of hoping we could work on an idea together," Neil admits.

Justin's eyes widen. "For real?"

"If you wanted. My publisher doesn't want a nonfiction book, so I have to write a novel, and I don't know where to start."

"Just write about something you like. Or something you don't like. A lot of books they make us read in school were written because some guy was mad about something, like Animal Farm. Or some of the Twilight Zone episodes."

Neil doesn't think he'd come up with anything worthwhile if his intentions from the beginning were to push or condemn a viewpoint.

"Or write about something that scares you. You could write about a monster, or make it more realistic like a thriller or mystery."

Neil has not considered these avenues before, but he wonders how Justin can suggest these new frontiers so simply. "I've never written anything like that before. What if it isn't good and I've just been a hack all along?"

Justin shrugs again. "You have to suck at something before you can get good. Alex told me almost everyone can be really good at something, but most of them stop before they get there." A pause, as Neil considers this. "Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks." He leaves, sensing an awkwardness if remaining too long.

Neil sits back in his chair, shuts his eyes, and imagines what he might write about.

* * *

At some point in the afternoon inspiration strikes, and Neil is caught in its current. He takes a half-formed idea and runs with it, typing out almost 10,000 words that weren't there before. Unwilling to be interrupted for too long and risk breaking the creative flow, he hurries downstairs when he smells Alex's cooking and takes dinner upstairs. Both Alex and Justin seem encouraging, pleased that Neil has broken through the invisible barrier of writer's block.

When night falls, Neil is still working, tirelessly plucking away at the typewriter keys. It has been days since he and Alex slept in the same bed together, and while that's nothing compared to the long stretches of time Alex spent away from home, it's asinine when they are currently living under the same roof. Some of Neil's favorite nights have involved falling asleep with his head resting on Alex's pudgy stomach, their bodies tangled together.

Neil thinks about slipping into bed beside him; for someone who wrangles words for a living, Neil is hopelessly inept at conveying any tender flashes of emotion out loud, so a silent gesture of reassurance and love would go a long way.

But he is on a streak of brilliance, or at least his inner critic has been silenced long enough to get a decent amount of words on a page, so he is reluctant to break this tenuous harmony of creativity and productivity.

He tells himself "soon, soon," a carrot on a stick to keep him working towards the goalpost, but he grows too exhausted to carry himself down the hall. He sleeps on the couch in his office and does not dream.

* * *

Now that Neil seems to be speaking to Alex without snide jabs or bitterness, Alex is more than happy to prepare breakfast for two. Neil eats his Denver omelet-stuffed biscuits like a starving prisoner, not even complaining about the likely cholesterol overload.

"Justin's spending the weekend with us," Alex feels compelled to tell him, even though Neil probably won't even notice at the rate he's working. "I'll keep him busy, so he won't interrupt you."

"'S fine," Neil mumbles, his mouth half-full. "He's a good kid."

"I think we know where he gets it from," Alex jokes, partially terrified he has overstepped here, that he's not allowed to refer to Justin's parentage.

But Neil smiles tightly—he's trying—and Alex feels relief.

After breakfast, Neil takes his bicycle out for a ride, and Alex is left with idle hands. So he throws a pork roast in the slow cooker and spends the rest of the afternoon cleaning house: vacuuming, dusting, polishing the kitchen appliances. When Neil returns, he heads upstairs for a shower and then, presumably, to his office, where he will remain until morning.

Alex wishes he knew where they stood, if he could slip into that office late at night and lead Neil to their bed, just to lie with him and slowly realign their universes. Would Neil be receptive to that, or would he push Alex away, too fragile for that kind of intimacy? Sleeping in the same bed would be a big step for them. Alex knows he can't hurry Neil's acclimation to their new circumstances, but damn if he doesn't want to.

Charlene brings Justin over around eight p.m after his dialysis. There's a very sickening feeling involved in having your rapist (or, for the less dramatic, your unpleasantly forceful sexual partner) on your doorstep, and Alex refuses to let her inside. Like the vampire she is, Charlene obeys this rule, looking shamed.

Maybe Justin notices the silent, brief contention between them, but he doesn't mention it. "Hey, Alex," he says, trying to inject some friendliness into this meeting.

Alex's animosity towards Charlene melts away. "Hey, kiddo. How're you feeling?"

"I'm okay, I guess. Kinda hungry."

"Well, you came to the right place," Alex chuckles.

"Thank you for letting him stay," Charlene says. "It means a lot."

"He's a good kid." _And he clearly doesn't get it from you,_ Alex thinks bitterly.

As though hearing Alex's inner thoughts, Charlene nods curtly. "Alex, can I have a word?"

Alex shifts his gaze to Justin. "Why don't you head inside and get comfortable?"

Justin readjusts the shoulder strap on his overnight bag and enters the house.

Alex eases the door shut behind him and fixes Charlene with a firm stare. "I know you're still looking for a donor. And I'm doing my best, but it's gonna take time."

She shakes her head. "That's not what I wanted to talk about."

"Then what?"

"I want to apologize. I feel terrible for what happened—what I did to you. Even though it brought our son into the world... it shouldn't have happened that way."

Alex isn't sure how to respond. Should he forgive her, because what she did resulted in Justin being born? Or should he hold onto his anger, since his relationship with Neil would be fine if she had never come into his life? Not to mention the guilt and shame and pain Alex has suffered due to her actions.

"Okay," Alex says.

Charlene gives him a confused, almost hopeful look, as though searching for absolution.

"I don't know if I forgive you," he continues. "But I hear your apology."

Charlene seems to understand that's the best she's going to get here. She nods and steps back. "Thank you. I'll see you and Justin on Sunday."

"What were you talking about?" Justin wonders when Alex gets inside the house.

"Adult stuff."

"If it's about me dying, I can handle it."

Alex feels dazed, like he's been slapped. "No, you're not gonna die." Justin doesn't know about Neil being the potential donor, which is probably for the best. "And it wasn't about that. Don't worry. Not everything's about you, kid."

During dinner, Alex brings a pulled pork sandwich and a glass of sweet tea up to Neil. Neil smiles at him and doesn't look like he's dying inside, which is a marked improvement.

"Thanks," Neil says as Alex sets the plate and glass on his desk.

Alex catches sight of the framed photograph. He knows Neil has moved it to be closer, since the last time he was here it was on the bookshelf. Alex picks up the frame and studies the photograph, experiencing a wave of nostalgia.

"That was a good night," Alex says as sounds and sensations rush back to him. "But, man, this is far from my best picture."

Neil gives him a warm smile. "I don't think you've ever taken a bad one."

Alex feels his face go hot. He knows Neil isn't trying to get laid, so he wonders what the compliment means. Is it a sign of tempered anger?

Alex's knee-jerk reaction is to jokingly flirt with him, but he doesn't want to risk it if Neil isn't in the same headspace. So he just smiles back and says, "I'll leave you to it."

Alex and Justin eat and watch television on the couch. Justin has sort of forced Alex into watching Aliens, and, from the parts of the movie Alex sees through the cracks of his fingers, he thinks it's okay.

"I guess I didn't get my love of horror movies from you," Justin says. "Can you at least try not to cover your eyes every time the aliens show up?"

"They're just so creepy-looking. Like a scorpion fused with a skeleton in one of those teleporter pods from The Fly."

"You saw The Fly?" Justin looks impressed. "The one with Jeff Goldblum?"

"Well, not voluntarily. We were on tour, and the hotel we were staying at had free HBO. It was the only movie on."

"So you were just too lazy to change the channel?"

"I was kind of intrigued by how gross it was."

"Yeah, it's hard to look away."

"The old one was kind of stupid and cheesy, but I think his wife crushing his fly-head in that compactor thing was way worse than the girl just shooting Goldblum-fly at the end of the remake," Justin says.

"The remake has that slow transformation thing going," Alex says. "That's the part that freaked me out. How he just kept slowly morphing into this disgusting creature and he couldn't stop it."

Justin looks at him. "Is that what you're afraid of?"

Alex scoffs. "Isn't everyone afraid of turning into a fly-man?" Justin's probably looking for a less sarcastic answer. "Well, yeah, that, and the fact that his one mistake—the fly getting into that other pod—just destroyed his entire life, and there was nothing he could do to fix it."

"Have you seen the sequel? It's about his son's terrible life as a science experiment, and it's really depressing."

"The most depressing movie I ever saw was Eraserhead. And I'd like to keep it that way."

Justin makes a noise of disagreement. "Too weird for me. It felt like a really long Pink Floyd music video."

Alex laughs. "I can see that."

After the movie, Alex helps Justin pull out the sofa bed in the basement. "You sure you wanna sleep down here?" Alex asks him. "It gets kinda cold."

"It's cool. Our house doesn't have a basement. And I'd feel really weird sleeping in your bed. No offense."

"None taken." Alex fetches him some heavy-duty blankets from a storage shelf. "I used to sleep down here sometimes when I was coming up with songs. Or at least half-formed versions of them."

"Maybe it's good for creativity."

Alex chuckles and hands Justin the blankets. "If you need anything, just come up and get it. You're a guest, but that doesn't mean you have to walk on eggshells, y'know?"

"Sure." Justin makes himself comfortable on the couch—not an easy feat, but he's considerably smaller than Alex, so he has less trouble. "Thanks for letting me stay."

"No problem. You're my kid." Alex has to keep saying it so it will register in his brain. "It's the least I can do."

Alex bids him goodnight and switches off the light as he leaves.


	8. Chapter 8

Justin wakes up bright and early the next morning, much to Alex and Neil's surprise. But after preparing himself a hearty plate of banana split pancakes, Justin dashes over to the couch to watch the morning cartoons, so Neil and Alex sit together at the table.

Neil has foregone the pancakes for a bowl of cereal that Alex guesses tastes like cardboard, if the nutrition facts on the side of the box are any indication. He reads the paper and drinks his orange juice with pep, eager to return to his writing cave and pound out more words. Alex is happy for him, of course, but he feels like this would be a great opportunity to reconnect if Neil's time wasn't already occupied.

In the past, Neil has always done his traveling and writing while Alex toured with Rush, so they spent all their free time at home together. This is a bit of a curveball in their relationship, when they need normalcy now more than ever.

"Any plans for today?" Neil asks him, setting aside the paper to fully immerse himself in Alex's response.

Alex shrugs. "It's up to him. I doubt he wants to just hang out here; we don't have video games."

An angry series of knocks sound on the front door.

"Who's that?" Justin wonders, turning in the direction of the noise.

"Probably a pissed-off Jehovah's Witness?" Alex pushes away from the table to answer the belligerent pounding. He opens the door to find an average-looking guy standing there wearing jeans and a purple polo shirt with one of those little alligator emblems on the breast. Or maybe it's a crocodile. Alex never learned the difference.

"Just because you fucked my wife doesn't mean you get to raise my kid!" he shouts, and Alex immediately knows who this guy is: Andrew, Justin's father.

Alex tries to diffuse his anger with friendliness. "Oh, you must be Andrew. Or is it Andy? Can I call you Andy?"

"Don't be a smart-ass." Andrew shoves past Alex. "Justin! You're coming with me!"

Neil and Justin appear in the foyer as though summoned by a wizard's spell.

"Dad?" Justin doesn't sound too thrilled at the sight of his absent father. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm taking you home," Andrew says. "What the hell do you think you're doing, huh? Your bitch of a mother thinks she can just—"

"Hey, hey," Alex cuts in with venom. "I've got my own problems with Charlene, too, but maybe don't call her that in front of the kid? That's his mother you're talking about."

"You want her? You can have her. But leave Justin out of it."

"Where have you been?" Neil speaks up. "From what I hear, you split after finding out Justin's blood type."

"I was trying to build a case against her," Andrew says. "Divorce on the grounds that she lied to me!" Every word he says comes out chewed, and Alex really doesn't want to hand Justin off to this guy.

"Your son was scared and needed you, but getting back at your wife was more important?" Alex challenges.

"If I can prove her to be a unfit mother, I get custody of Justin."

"I don't know if that's what's best for him."

Andrew scoffs, like Alex's concern for Justin is ridiculous and unnecessary. "You think you can waltz in with your fancy house and piles of money and tell me how to raise my kid? Justin's one of the few things I own outright. Like hell some washed-up rock star is gonna take my place. Where the hell were you all this time, huh?"

"I really don't feel comfortable letting him go with you," Neil says to Andrew; Alex's heart skips a few beats at Neil's newfound protectiveness, but also at the discord this might cause. Andrew doesn't seem like he's just going to let this go.

"It's okay," Justin says, and there's an edge of pleading to his voice, like he wants Alex and Neil to surrender before things get worse. "I'll go. He's my dad."

"Why don't we just call Charlene and see what she thinks?" Alex suggests. He's trying to shift the decision to her out of self-preservation, but part of him trusts Charlene's judgment of Andrew. Alex has only seen Andrew in this brief moment, but Charlene has over ten years of experience with him; she would know best if Justin were in danger.

It's a temper-diffusing suggestion, so Alex is surprised to see Andrew's fist hurtling towards him like a torpedo. He's on the floor before he can even blink, the world spinning like an amusement park ride.

"You fucked my wife!" Andrew shouts, whaling away with kicks, and Alex tries his best to guard his face and ribs and balls. He tastes blood, feels a hot welt throbbing on his jaw where Andrew's fist connected. This is bullshit, Alex thinks. He shouldn't be getting the shit kicked out of him in his own house in full view of his husband and his son. He hears Justin shouting, "Dad, stop!" and sees Neil grapple with Andrew's flailing arms and pin him against the foyer wall with a heavy slam.

The bone-crushing blows stop, and Alex tries to remember how to breathe. He's lying on his back and staring up at Neil, who has Andrew pinned in a hammerlock, his elbow twisted in a way it was never intended.

"You have made a very big mistake," Neil tells him in a calm voice.

"He fucked my wife!" Andrew growls.

Neil puts more pressure on Andrew's arm, making him whimper in pain. "That sounds like a problem you should take up with her. Now you can either leave quietly and let Justin stay here, or we can call the cops and drag this out. It's up to you." He puts a bit of extra force into the hold. Andrew's knees buckle. "But a lawsuit or charge brought against you wouldn't help prove Charlene is an unfit mother, would it?"

"I'm going, I'm going! Just don't break my arm!"

Carefully, Neil lets go of him. Alex's heartbeat spikes, anticipating Andrew might lash out at him, but he just rubs his shoulder and elbow, caressing the joints like wounded baby birds. Alex struggles into a sitting position and spits a mouthful of saliva and blood into his palm. Whatever happens, Alex cannot let this man anywhere near Justin.

Andrew leaves in a silent hurry, the door slamming behind him.

Neil and Justin are at Alex's side. "Oh my God, Alex, I'm so sorry!" Justin says, his voice wavering like he's trying not to cry. "I didn't know he was gonna punch you. He's never—"

"It's okay." Alex's jaw aches as it moves, and he flinches at a jolt of pain in his ribs. "It's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong."

"But he came here for me," Justin sort of mumbles, and Alex wonders why he's so adamant to shoulder the blame for his father.

"He was MIA since you got sick. How were you supposed to know he'd pick today to remember he has a kid?" Neil says gently. With equal tenderness, he touches his fingers to Alex's bruised face. "You okay?"

"I'll live. Though I think my modeling career is over."

Neil smiles, and it makes his eyes crinkle at the edges in the way Alex loves. "Maybe for a week." His thumb grazes over Alex's bottom lip and comes away red. "Can you make it upstairs? I'll try to patch you up."

Alex nods, and Neil helps him to his feet. Neil is stronger than he looks, and Alex feels justified in slumping against him, especially now that he's up and moving and everything hurts in white-hot, incredible ways.

"Can I help?" Justin asks, trudging after them as they climb the stairs.

"Why don't you fix up an ice pack?" Neil suggests, and Justin happily hurries off to do just that.

In some unprecedented feat of determination, Alex makes it to the upstairs bathroom. Neil sits him on the toilet lid and shuffles through the cedar cabinets for first-aid supplies. Dazed and disoriented, Alex keeps himself steady. Neil holds a damp, white handtowel and lightly dabs it against Alex's busted lip.

"It was nice of you to stick up for Justin," Alex murmurs, gazing up at Neil.

"I'm not a monster, Alex."

"I know, I just... I didn't expect you to go to bat for him like that. I should've been the one to do it."

"The guy punched you first. I had to step in."

Alex drops his gaze to the smooth, pale floor under his socked feet. "Thanks."

Justin returns with the icepack and hands it to Alex. The cold feels good against his hot, swollen face. "That arm hold was awesome!" Justin raves to Neil. "You were like Batman! How'd you learn to do that?"

Neil smiles, self-effacing. "I thought learning some basic self-defense was a good idea, given my lifestyle."

Alex almost gasps. He'd never thought of it that way before, as a way of protecting himself against violent homophobia.

Neil opens another cabinet door and takes out a bottle of pills: Tylenol with codeine, from when an amplifier dropped onto Alex's foot during a tour. "Did you hit your head?" he asks, looking at Alex.

"I don't think so."

Neil shakes out a pill from the bottle. Alex takes it, swallows it down with some water from the sink faucet.

"That should help the ribs. Nothing feels broken, right?"

"No, I'm pretty sturdy."

Another smile. If Alex knew all it would take to get Neil to smile again was get his ass kicked, he'd have done it a lot sooner. "Why don't you get some rest?"

"But I was s'posed to take Justin—"

"I'll do it," Neil suggests, and the words sound so ludicrous coming from him both Alex and Justin look stunned. Neil ignores their shock. "Justin, you ever ride on a motorcycle before?"

"No. Do you have one? Do I get to ride it?"

"Yes, and yes."

* * *

While Alex rests, Neil takes Justin for a motorcycle ride around the block. Justin doesn't say much, probably a little uncertain around Neil, which Neil's hoping to remedy by the end of the day. Seeing Andrew's outbursts served as a wake-up call for Neil on two fronts. One, Justin is clearly in need of respectable male role models in his life. And, two, most importantly: Neil cannot punish Justin for Alex's mistake. Andrew showed up fueled by rage at Charlene and took it out on Justin. Neil has to be better than that. He'd never get violent—it's not in his nature—but even his recent icy demeanor towards Justin is likely to make a harmful imprint.

And if Justin is going to be part of this family, Neil needs to open up and welcome him.

He putters around the quiet neighborhood, eventually circling back to their driveway. Justin makes a sound of disappointment when they pull in. "Aww, that's it?"

"For now."

The bike goes in the garage, then they're off in Neil's compact, everyman car. Justin sits up front, looking nervous and awkward as they roll down the street. "Where are we going?"

"I thought since you're part of our family now you might want to have a say in the grocery shopping. What's your favorite food?"

"Pizza."

Neil nods, considering this. "Alex can make that. He puts pizza rolls in the crust."

Justin gapes at him.

"It's pretty mind-blowing. What about desserts? You like chocolate? Cookies? Cake?"

"Cookie dough's my favorite, but it's hard to sneak it past my mom."

"How's cookie dough cheesecake sound?"

"Awesome." Justin smirks, but it fades after a moment. "Why are you being so cool to me? Did Alex tell you to do this?"

Neil expected this, but it still wounds him. "I admit I wasn't thrilled at first when Alex told me he had a son. But, regardless of circumstance, you are his son. Which makes you part of our family. If you want to be, I mean. I just want you to know you have a place to go when things get rough at home."

Justin nods and goes quiet for a moment. "I guess Dad showing up freaked you out, huh?"

"Is he always like that?"

"Kind of."

"I can't pretend to know what you're going through. But none of this is your fault. He's not supposed to treat you or your mother like that," Neil says.

Justin sighs and slumps in the passenger seat. "I wish I'd never got sick. My parents would've never known about my blood type, and none of this would've happened."

"I think it would have come out eventually. That's what happens with secrets; they don't like to stay buried."

At the store, Neil lets Justin commandeer the shopping, occasionally throwing in household staples or items needed for a recipe. The store is probably a bit more upscale than Justin's used to, as he seems intrigued by the expanded deli and bakery sections.

"Should we have left Alex alone?" Justin asks as they're rolling through the chip aisle. "What if Dad comes back?"

"If he did, whatever the result, it would keep him from getting sole custody of you. And something tells me your dad's not the type of guy who's used to solving his problems through violence."

"He's a stock market guy," Justin scoffs. "I don't think he's ever punched anyone before."

"Neither has Alex," Neil offers. "He works with his hands; not a good idea to damage them."

"What about you?"

"Once or twice. When I was 18 I went to England, looking to make it as a writer. I got myself into trouble a few times."

"With, like, the cops?"

Neil shakes his head. "Just people who didn't like the way I looked or who I was."

"Is that why you left?"

"That, and it's easy to become disillusioned when you don't know anything. Plus, I got homesick." Neil cracks a smile.

They stock their shopping cart full of food and roll through the checkout. Justin blanches at the total, but Neil doesn't bat an eye.

"Do you usually spend that much?" Justin asks, helping Neil load the bags into the trunk of the car.

"We don't usually cook for three."

Justin glances away, as though ashamed. "Sorry. Next time I won't make you get all that stuff."

"You've got enough to worry about. You don't need to be worrying about money, too. Besides, this store's probably a bit pricier than the one you're used to."

"I know, I just... Dad yells at my mom whenever she spends too much."

Hearing this breaks Neil's heart a little more. "Well, he's not here. And your mom didn't spend that money. So don't worry. There will be no yelling." Neil smiles, and Justin tries to offer one in return, but it's not all there.

It takes them three trips to haul all the bags inside the house. Alex offers to help, but Neil shoos him away. "No, don't trouble yourself," Neil says, steering Alex toward the couch.

Alex rolls his eyes, an affectionate smile at the corners of his mouth. "He didn't break my legs. Or my arms. I can help."

"We've got it," Justin says.

"Yeah, we're good," Neil tells him. "If you want to help, you can cook later."

Alex's smirk widens. He seems pleased that Neil and Justin have bonded, even if they're using that bond to stonewall him. "So I'm too feeble to help unload groceries, but not so much that I can't cook?"

"You could teach me," Justin says, abandoning the kitchen for the living room. "I can make dinner. Just tell me what to do."

Alex smiles, and Neil wants to kiss him deeply. "Alright, you got it."

Neil puts writing on the back burner for the rest of the day, instead focusing on forging a connection with Justin. They watch a baseball game on TV—Toronto vs. Kansas City—while Alex whips up a smoothie for lunch, since his bruised jaw makes it difficult to open his mouth around anything wider than a straw.

"Babe, you want the other half?" Alex offers, pouring half of the blender's contents into a glass.

"One of us has to be sober," Neil calls back.

"He spiked it?" Justin asks.

"I smell the rum."

Justin hops off the couch and ambles into the kitchen. "Can I have it?"

Alex chuckles. "You're fourteen."

Justin gives him a dramatic shrug. "So what? Like you didn't drink when you were my age?"

"People didn't lock their doors back then either. Not everything we did in those days was smart."

"Wouldn't you rather have me drink under supervision?" Justin challenges.

"Maybe when both of your kidneys are healthy. Nice try."

Justin rolls his eyes but doesn't belabor the point. "So if you're drinking that, you're not having dinner with us?"

"Yeah, your dad packs a pretty mean punch for a stock market guy."

"Can I use your phone? I wanna call my mom."

"If you wanna go home, you can just tell me," Alex says.

Justin shakes his head. "I just need to see if she's okay. If Dad stopped by..." He trails off. "I should warn her."

"You can use my office if you need privacy," Neil says.

Justin thanks him and heads upstairs.

Alex drops next to Neil on the couch, smoothie in hand. He already looks a little drunk, and Neil has no doubt he sneaked a shot of rum before adding it to the blender. "So you and Justin are getting along pretty well," Alex says pointedly.

"He's a good kid," Neil says, which seems to be his go-to answer for statements like this.

"And you're a good dad." Alex sets his drink on the glass coffee table, moving so his body's turned towards Neil. "Are you still mad at me?" he asks, his perfect face expressing hope and trepidation.

Neil searches for a response. "I'm not sure how I feel anymore."

Alex's brow furrows. "Is that good or bad?"

"I don't know."

"I thought you were supposed to be the smart one," Alex jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

Neil thinks about kissing him, about forgiving Alex for his past and fully incorporating Justin into their lives. He thinks about giving Justin his kidney. A pang of excited nerves squeezes in his gut. "I'm not as smart as you like to think I am."

Alex's mouth is a tempting curve of a smile. Neil wants to move in and kiss him, but it has been a long time since they properly kissed, and, if done right, a kiss would escalate, and this isn't the time or place for that. And Neil isn't sure what it would mean for them, so he just curls his fingers around Alex's own like a nervous virgin on a first date.

"Does it hurt?" Neil asks, looking at Alex's bruised face.

"Nah, I'm tough."

Neil lifts his free hand to the bruise, lightly pressing his fingers against the discoloration on Alex's jaw. Alex jerks away like Neil's hands are hot coals.

Neil smirks. "Yeah, you're a real tough guy."

"Joke all you want; you're the one missing out," Alex says sweetly, and it's not like Neil hasn't thought about Alex's soreness impacting their sex life, but they haven't even slept in the same bed for almost a week. But maybe it means something that Alex feels comfortable teasing him about it, like it's not an impossibility.

Neil squeezes Alex's hand. He should try to rebuild their relationship. Tonight, he should climb into bed with Alex and just sleep with him. It feels like a monumental gesture, a daunting idea, but Neil is compelled to fix this. He loves Alex, and he's begun to develop an almost parental fondness for Justin.

He should save the boy's life.

"How's the writing coming?" Alex asks, snapping Neil from his thoughts.

Neil hasn't really thought about it all day. "Um, fine, I guess. It's kind of on the back burner right now."

Alex looks intrigued, like he wonders what Neil is prioritizing over his writing, but he says, "Take all the time you need," with kindness.

* * *

It is twilight, and Alex helps Justin in the kitchen with dinner. Neil sits at the dining table, observing his newfound family. Justin's laugh is so much like Alex's that it breaks Neil's heart a little. If Justin dies, Neil realizes, a piece of Alex dies too: not just physically, but spiritually as well. And watching Alex fall apart would break Neil, too.

"Neil, what do you want on the pizza?" Justin asks.

"Pineapple is fine."

Justin makes a face. "Seriously, don't be gross."

"How about black olives, then?"

"Ugh, never mind," Justin grumbles, turning back to the kitchen counter.

Neil chuckles to himself.

While the pizza bakes, Alex prepares himself a milkshake in the blender.

"You get to have a shake for dinner?" Justin says, awed.

"Well, it's not like I can chew. Just wait 'til you get your wisdom teeth out. I had shakes for every meal for a week," Alex says. He glances down at himself. "Probably explains a couple extra pounds."

"That was years ago," Neil protests, because he remembers that week back in 1977 when two of Alex's wisdom teeth became impacted and had to be pulled along with the rest, just for precautionary measures. Alex laid in bed for a week, his mouth a mess of bloody gauze, his body doped up on painkillers.

"And it was horrible," Alex reminds him. "I could barely even open my mouth for the first two days, but I had to change the gauze at least once a day, and every time I felt like the holes in my mouth were gonna explode and I'd choke on my own blood."

Justin snorts. "Wow, that's... awesomely gross."

Neil is endeared by Alex's ability to connect with Justin's sense of teenage grotesquery. He wonders what it might be like to raise a child from birth with Alex. There are so many experiences Alex has missed with Justin: his first words, teaching him to walk and talk and read, his first day of school. And Neil realizes Alex's frantic attempts to bond with and teach Justin don't stem as much from lack of a project as they do from his fear Justin will die before ever having those experiences. Because despite Justin's seemingly healthy demeanor, he is a boy struggling with kidney failure.

Alex can't give his son a kidney, so he's trying to give him life experiences and imparted wisdom in hopes it will somehow save him.

The three of them eat at the table, Alex sipping his milkshake while Justin and Neil chew slices of pizza. Alex tells Justin stories of past tour hijinks, and Neil listens. In watching Alex entertain and parent Justin, Neil is reminded of all the reasons he loves Alex, as though he'd ever forgotten. But he'd gotten lost along the way, misguided by his anger, and he's glad to have found his way back.

After dinner, they watch television. Alex gets a call from Geddy and takes the cordless phone outside on the balcony. Justin and Neil are quiet for a moment, content with soaking in the images onscreen, until Justin says, "You think you could convince my mom to get me a motorcycle? She says they're too dangerous, but you've had one for a while and you're okay, right?"

Neil laughs. "Your mom's right. Stick with a car for a while. You don't even have your license yet."

Justin ignores this perfectly sensical approach. "Have you ever wrecked?"

"Once, and I ended up in the hospital. I broke my arm." Neil points to a faded, raised scar on his arm. "The bone snapped through the skin."

"Cool." Justin looks at Neil. "I mean, not cool that you got hurt, but, y'know..."

Neil smiles, trying to show no ill will for Justin's enthusiasm towards gruesome injuries. "In retrospect, I guess it's pretty metal."

Justin smirks. "Did it hurt?"

"I wasn't conscious for most of it. It was so bad I blacked out. But luckily I was in a relatively busy area, so I got to the hospital pretty quickly. After the surgery, I think I was out for a day or two. When I woke up, Alex was there. He flew all the way from Paris to see me."

"How come you and Alex don't yell at each other like my parents do?" Justin wonders. "Is it 'cause you don't have kids?"

"What do you think you are?" Neil jokes, and Justin manages a half-smile. "I don't know. Sometimes people become toxic to each other after a while. And sometimes having kids just complicates things that were there before. I don't know your parents, so I can't really say. Alex and I have our problems too. But I guess we have a deep love and respect for each other that can overcome those problems. When we're angry at each other, we can forgive. Some people can't do that, and they hold onto resentment until it poisons them. They think the purpose of an argument is to win rather than seek a compromise or a solution. A marriage is a partnership, not a battle. Does that make sense?"

Justin nods.

* * *

Neil can't sleep. The house is hauntingly quiet. Justin and Alex retired to their beds hours ago, while Neil stayed in his office to think. But being here amongst his typewriter and manuscripts and books only reminds him of his duty to write, and Neil has questions that cannot be answered through words. He thinks he has the answer to those questions already, and they terrify him, grasping him in the cold hands of fear. These are life-changing decisions he's considering, and as much as he wants to go down the hall into the bedroom and climb in next to Alex, he needs more time to think.

He finds himself in the bedroom, quietly sneaking around and packing a small overnight bag. Alex lies splayed out across the king-size bed, the soft sounds of his breath filling the room. He clutches one of the pillows the way a child might cling to a stuffed animal, and it occurs to Neil he has rarely, if ever, seen Alex sleep alone.

Downstairs, the refrigerator light cuts through the darkness, and Justin jumps when he sees Neil descending the stairs.

"Sorry," Justin whispers, holding up a glass of water, as though indicating he wasn't sneaking anything sugary or objectionable. "I needed a drink, and Alex said I could get whatever I needed."

Neil holds up a hand to ward off the explanation. "It's okay. You're allowed."

Justin watches him cross the floor. "Where're you going?"

"Out for a drive."

"It's midnight," Justin points out.

"Fewer cars on the road."

Justin remains unconvinced and jumps to the only conclusion he can. "Are you and Alex getting a divorce?"

"Don't you think I'd have a bigger bag?" Neil says, showcasing the backpack he's carrying.

"What happened to all that stuff you said about marriage being a partnership?"

"We're not breaking up," Neil tells him. "You know how sometimes you think you want to do something because you're around other people who want that same thing? But deep down you're not really sure if that's how  _you_  feel or how they want you to feel?"

Justin looks confused. "Like peer pressure?"

"Sort of. I'm just going to spend some time by myself to see how I really feel. I'll be back."

Justin seems like he wants to argue, but he is still young, therefore his ability to describe his emotions is limited, so he just whimpers, "Don't leave." Neil hears him but doesn't listen.


	9. Chapter 9

Alex wakes up to a frighteningly quiet house. Neil is not in his office nor downstairs. No one, in fact, is downstairs, and Alex finds himself having an anxiety attack—thinking Justin has died in this fucking house and he's cursing Neil for hoarding his kidney and cursing himself for growing close to the kid despite the odds and oh fuck oh Christ—

Alex scrambles down the basement stairs and finds Justin sitting up on the couch, looking half-asleep. "What's wrong?" Justin murmurs, rubbing his eyes. Alex has no idea how Justin could know the terror in his own head. "You were shouting."

Alex swallows, embarrassed. "Sorry, you weren't awake, so I thought... I thought something happened to you."

Justin snickers, but it's a little half-hearted, like the idea of him dying through the night isn't out of the realm of possibility.

"You want breakfast?"

Justin shrugs and follows Alex upstairs. "You want anything special?" Alex asks as they make it into the kitchen.

"I'm not really hungry."

"Oh. Do you feel alright?"

"I'm fine," Justin says in a way that conveys he's absolutely not fine.

Alex turns, places a hand to Justin's forehead. "Are you sick?"

"Looking at your face makes me sick," Justin says, like it's a defense from something deeper he doesn't want to talk about.

"Hey," Alex pouts, before realizing Justin's talking about the bruise. At least, he hopes so. "Oh, right." He touches the tender skin. "It's pretty bad? Well, you're gonna have to deal with it. I don't have any concealer. That's your mom's department. Just try not to look at me."

Alex makes another smoothie while Justin nibbles on some Pop-Tarts. Justin doesn't talk much over breakfast, which Alex finds unusual and a bit worrying. "Where do you think Neil went?" Alex asks, trying to get him talking. "Both of his bikes are in the garage, but the car's gone."

"He didn't leave a note?"

"Not that I found. But he usually leaves them where I'll see them. Maybe he didn't think he'd be gone that long."

Justin looks like he's dying, his face scrunched in a worried expression. His lower lip quivers almost imperceptibly.

"You okay?" Alex asks.

"He left you, and it's my fault!" Justin blurts out, which Alex is not prepared for, so he sort of laughs, which makes Justin look even more pained.

"Wait, what?"

"Last night I came up for a drink, and Neil came down with a backpack and told me he was leaving."

"What'd he say exactly?"

"He said he was going out for a drive to think about how he felt."

"About what?"

Justin shrugs and sniffles. "He didn't say."

Alex thinks he knows where Neil went, but he wants to root out Justin's anxiety first. "Why do you think it's your fault?"

"'Cause Dad did the same thing when he left. He packed a bag and snuck out in the middle of the night, but I saw him leave from my bedroom window. I tried to get him to stay, but he wouldn't. I'm sorry."

Somehow, watching Justin struggle not to cry is sadder than if he were sobbing dramatically.

"Hey, it's not your fault," Alex tells him. "About Neil or your dad. But I think I know where Neil went. We've had some arguments lately, but we've been getting closer. He wouldn't just break up with me without saying anything."

"Where do you think he went?"

"Sometimes he goes to his parents' place to decompress. Usually after he travels somewhere, when he gets back to Canada he stays with them for a day or two before coming home. It helps him clear his mind and get his equilibrium back."

"You're sure that's where he went?"

"I can call them and find out. Then maybe we could drop by and you can see for yourself."

Justin nods slowly. "I don't wanna be the reason you get a divorce."

Alex scoffs. "We can't divorce because we're not officially married. But we're not breaking up. He would've told me first, don't you think?"

Justin shrugs again. "I guess." He's seen the small gestures of affection traded between Neil and Alex, and on some level he has to know they love each other, or at least that theirs is a very different relationship from the one Justin's parents have.

Alex pushes away from the table. "I'll call the in-laws and see if he's there, okay?"

Neil's mother, Betty, answers the phone. "Hello?"

"It's your favorite son-in-law," Alex says, jovial.

"Oh, Alex, it's lovely to hear from you! Don't worry, Neil's fine. He's upstairs in his old bedroom. You want me to put him on?"

"Maybe I wanted to talk to you, Mrs. Peart. I always felt like we've had this connection..."

Betty laughs, accustomed to this harmless flirtation between them. "You're quite the charmer, Alex. I can see why Neil fell for you. Just a second, I'll put him on."

Alex waits, giving Justin an optimistic smile and a thumbs-up. On the other end of the line, he hears Betty tell Neil, "It's your husband," and he finds it incredibly sweet that she recognizes their relationship and treats it with the same respect and dignity as a heterosexual relationship.

"Alex," Neil says into the phone, and he doesn't sound agitated or upset that Alex has found him.

"Hey. Justin was worried about you. He thought you ran out on me."

"And why would I do that?"

"I haven't been putting out for you lately."

"Oh God," Justin groans, burying his face in his hands, and Alex laughs.

"Listen," Alex says, suddenly missing the presence of a phone cord. He could use something to fidget with right now. "Would it be a problem if we came by? Justin would probably feel a lot better if he sees we're not breaking up. And there's something I need to tell you."

Neil seems to understand this isn't something Alex can just tell him over the phone. "I don't know if I can handle any more surprises."

"I can't keep secrets from you anymore."

Neil takes a breath. His voice is a little unsure when he speaks again. "Okay. You can come by."

* * *

The drive to St. Catharines takes about an hour and a half. Despite Alex's reassurances, Justin still looks worried.

"What's the problem?" Alex asks.

"What're you gonna tell Neil? You said it was a secret."

Alex tries to formulate an answer that will satisfy Justin's curiosity but keep him in the dark about the circumstances of his conception. "Something happened to me a long time ago. I never told him because I was embarrassed and scared what he would think of me. I thought if I didn't talk about it, it was like it never happened."

"What was it?"

Of course Justin would ask that.

"That's between me and Neil."

Surprisingly, Justin accepts this and doesn't pry further.

Neil's parents' home isn't too far from the high school where Rush played that pivotal show all those years ago, the gig that brought Alex and Neil together. They pass the school on the way, and Alex points it out, getting lost in the memory.

Justin seems uncomfortable with this trip down memory lane.

"Sorry," Alex says, catching himself. "It's probably weird, huh?"

"What's weird?"

"Me and Neil. Two guys."

"No, it's just... you actually like each other. My parents barely ever talk about stuff like that, like how they met or stuff they used to do together before they had me. I don't think they were ever happy."

Alex never considered that, and it sheds a whole new light on Justin's slight discomfort with Alex and Neil's relationship. Despite some of Neil's earlier frigidness, they do still love each other, and seeing a healthy relationship in real life must be bizarre for Justin, like he's waiting for it to go wrong.

"I wish things had turned out better for you,"Alex says. "You got dealt a bad hand, and it's not fair."

"It could be worse," Justin says, staring out the window.

They pull into the driveway of the Pearts' home. It's an average-looking house on a quiet street. It reminds him of the house he grew up in, all middle-class suburbia and no grandeur. Alex rings the doorbell, and Neil's mother answers.

"Alex," she says, pulling him close in a hug. "Neil told me you'd be stopping by—Good gracious, what happened to your face?"

Alex's hand unconsciously moves to his battered jaw. "Foul ball."

Betty sees Justin standing on the doorstep. "You have a grandchild you've been keeping from me?" She seems delighted by this prospect, not at all confused or outraged. "What's your name, dear?"

"Justin," he murmurs, probably embarrassed and worried his parentage will be called into question.

But Betty isn't concerned with any of that. Justin looks like Alex, so she accepts him wholeheartedly. "It's nice to meet you, Justin. How long have you been living with Alex and Neil?"

"I don't really live with them. I live with my mom."

"It's kind of complicated," Alex says with a nervous, dopey half-smile. They step inside. Every old person's house looks the same in a different way. There are white doilies atop aged wooden furniture, black and white photos in frames, ugly sofas and chairs with fabric patterns that somehow survived the 1950s.

Neil's father, Glenn, appears at the end of the entryway. "What's this about a grandchild?"

"Glenn, this is my son, Justin," Alex says.

Glenn looks confused, adjusting his glasses like that will help him make sense of this. "He's a little older than I expected. I thought you'd adopt a baby. Start from scratch."

Betty gives her husband a playful slap on the arm. "Look at the boy. He's not adopted. He looks just like Alex."

"I thought you were gay," Glenn says to Alex, comically unaware.

Alex has no idea how to explain this. He doesn't want to admit to infidelity in front of Neil's parents, but he can't tell them he was raped and screw Justin up even more.

"I thought I heard you down here," Neil says, and Alex exhales a sigh of relief at the welcome intrusion. He embraces Neil as he comes down the stairs, and Neil's a little surprised at the sudden burst of affection, but he reciprocates, and it feels real.

"See?" Alex says, turning to Justin. "Everything's fine. We're not breaking up."

"You'd better not," Betty scolds. "You have a son to raise."

Alex moves to face Justin and finds a bit of resistance. Neil is holding Alex's hand. It's warm and soft and reassuring. "Justin, why don't you hang out with Neil's parents and tell them about yourself? Me and Neil are gonna talk for a minute. They've been waiting for grandkids from us, though, so prepare to be spoiled. They're gonna try to make up for lost time."

Justin chuckles and lets himself be lead into the living room. Betty says, "Do you like chocolate? I think I have some cookies somewhere," then the voices fade as Neil and Alex head upstairs.

Neil's childhood bedroom looks more like a guest room, with white walls and bedding and tawny carpet. There is minimal decorating, but it would probably be weirder for nothing to have changed, for all of Neil's childhood belongings to still be here.

Alex shuts the door. Neil's hands find Alex's waist, then their foreheads are touching, and it's the closest they've been since this all started. Alex's breath catches in his throat, and he waits to see where this goes.

"Don't you want to know why I'm here?" Neil asks.

"Not really. I figure you've got a lot on your mind. I wanted to give you your space, but Justin was kind of upset that you ran out."

"It's okay." They're still very close, and Alex thinks Neil wants to kiss him, and that's something Alex wants too, but he's afraid, like his right to do so is still precarious. "There's something I want to tell you, too," Neil says, "but you drove an hour and a half to get here, so you can go first."

Alex nods, carefully removing Neil's hands from his waist and putting an inch or so between them. Feeling like he's skydiving without a parachute, Alex tells Neil the truth. He's hyperventilating by the time it's over, the words shaking out of his mouth, and he doesn't understand why. He told Geddy the whole story, too, and he didn't break down like this. Why is he losing his shit the one time it's vitally important he stay composed?

"I thought I could just pretend it never happened," Alex manages to say, "but I've been holding it in 'cause I was scared to talk about it, but we have a family now, and Justin is part of it, so it needs to come out."

Neil is speechless, his face marred with pain, and Alex regrets the past three minutes, because no one's face should ever look like that. His eyes are wet, his throat tense and quivering. "You didn't think I'd believe you."

Alex realizes he still doesn't. In fact, he's more afraid of that now than ever, since he has had time to formulate a convincing, sympathetic lie that will get Neil on his side. Is that how this looks?

"God," Neil croaks. "That's why you never defended yourself. You never said anything like 'it was just one night' or that you were sexually confused... You just took all the horrible things I said to you like you deserved them. Alex, I'm so sorry. I wish you had told me. I would have helped you."

"I didn't want you to think I was lying," Alex says. Neil shakes his head. "And you would have. If I told you this after telling you about Justin, you would've thought I was trying to manipulate you into giving him your kidney. So I couldn't tell you."

Neil keeps shaking his head, like he's trying to shake away the very notion. "Alex, no. I know who you are. You would never lie about something like that."

"Well, you thought I was a cheater with multiple illegitimate kids out there somewhere, so who knows what I'm capable of?"

Neil shuts his eyes, pained. "I was an asshole. I'm sorry." He winds his arms around Alex's waist, and Alex lets Neil hold him. It feels nice to lay his head on Neil's shoulder. "You never told anyone else in fifteen years?"

"I told Geddy."

Neil huffs as though to say, "Of course."

"But only 'cause I was trying to figure out how to tell you. Or if I should. But then I ended up not being a match..."

"You don't have to worry about that anymore," Neil murmurs. "I'm going to take a blood test and see if I'm a viable donor."

Something seizes Alex's insides. It feels like the unfettered joy of a marriage proposal, the thrill of seeing a packed concert hall, the excited drop in your stomach at the peak of a roller coaster all at once. "What?"

"Justin is part of our family now. I want to help him," Neil says, holding Alex tighter. "He doesn't deserve any of what's happened to him. And maybe we can't undo the damage his parents did, but we can try to save his life."

Alex begins to sob, uncaring if he's a weeping mess. He keeps his face tucked into the slope of Neil's neck, staining his shirt with tears.

"Don't thank me just yet. There's still a chance I won't be a match," Neil reminds him.

"I know,"Alex mumbles. He lifts his head and looks at Neil. Neil brushes a tear from Alex's cheek with a thumb before capturing his mouth. It's a gentle kiss, with a hint of hardness underneath, like Neil wants to push but is holding back. Alex clings to the front of Neil's shirt, lost in the familiar dance of lips and tongues.

"I love you so much," Neil says, his breath hot. "And I'm so sorry I haven't shown it lately."

"We've survived being apart much longer than this." Alex steals another kiss, and Neil falls into it for a moment before pulling back.

"Not while being angry at each other. For a while I was afraid you'd leave."

There are few things more preposterous than the idea of Alex leaving Neil. He laughs. "I'm sorry, what? I think you've got that backwards. You're smart and hot and funny and kind. I'd have to be the world's biggest moron to leave you."

Neil smiles, and their foreheads are touching again. He has the kindest eyes, Alex notices, and this quiet moment of shared adoration is almost magical.

"I know you came here to relax," Alex says, disentangling from Neil's embrace, "so I won't stick around. I'll be waiting when you come home."

"A rare role reversal."

Alex can't resist the opportunity to make a dirty joke. "Maybe we'll do that too." He winks, and Neil kisses the smirk off his mouth.

* * *

Alex drives Justin back to Toronto. They stop for burgers and fries on the way; Justin eats most of his fries before they make it home. "You promise you're not getting a divorce?" Justin asks while they eat at the dining table.

"I promise. And Neil's going to see if he's a match for you," Alex tells him, partially unveiling this secret he has kept from Justin.

Hope brightens up Justin's face. "You think he will be?"

"I don't know. He might be. But I don't want to get your hopes up if it turns out he's not."

Justin doesn't seem discouraged by the possibility. "I think he'll be a match."

Alex decides to let the kid have this moment of optimism.

Around four o'clock, Alex drives Justin to Charlene's house. Justin's not too thrilled to return home so early, but he has an overnight dialysis appointment later, and Charlene makes the visitation rules.

"Andrew did that?" she asks at the sight of Alex's bruised face.

"Don't tell me; I'm sure he's a great guy."

"No, he's a prick."

"Mom," Justin cuts in, "Alex thinks Neil might be a match! He said he's gonna get tested tomorrow."

Charlene gasps, looking from Justin to Alex for reassurance. "Are you—You found someone?"

"My husband."

Her eyes go wide.

"He's one of the good ones," Alex says, taking this small victory over her, that he found someone who loves and respects him. "I think Neil's blood type might be compatible with Justin's, but I'm not sure. We'll find out in a few days."

Charlene nods, and Alex sees her eyes are wet. "Thank you."

"I'm doing it for him," Alex tells her. "But no one deserves to lose a child." He pushes a hand through Justin's hair. "I'll see you later, alright? Be good for your mom."

"Okay," Justin grumbles.

Alex gives him a one-armed hug which, surprisingly, Justin returns.

Alex drives home feeling like he's fallen into a space between spaces.

* * *

Neil arrives home later that night. The lights are out in the house when he pulls into the driveway. He creeps upstairs and slips into the bedroom, a phantom in his own home. Alex lies sprawled on the bed, spooning with the spare pillow. Neil sets his backpack on the floor and tiptoes into the bathroom. He manages to shower and put on pajamas without waking Alex, but as soon as he crawls into bed Alex stirs, turning over to face him with a sleepy smile.

"Hey. I thought you weren't coming home for a couple days."

"I missed you," Neil says, winding an arm around Alex's waist and pulling him closer. The bed is warm from the heat of him; Neil has missed this, too.

He presses his mouth over Alex's own, his hands pulling off Alex's t-shirt and sliding his boxers down his hips. Alex hums a happy noise and opens his legs; Neil finds his place between them, their mouths exchanging hungry kisses. It has been too long since Neil truly kissed Alex, and he wants to be more persistent, to press him back against the pillows and kiss Alex until his lips are cherry-red, but even in the dark the bruise warns him to be gentle.

Neil mouths over perky pink nipples, making Alex squirm and sigh. Alex drags his fingers through Neil's damp hair as his kisses trail lower and lower, his mouth enveloping the knob-like head of Alex's cock.

"Oh," Alex sighs, like he's surprised. His fingers tug a bit in Neil's hair, and Neil sucks him off, his mouth diligently working the head. Alex moans, gently urging Neil up, back to his mouth. They kiss, and Neil has always wondered if Alex likes to taste himself in Neil's mouth.

"Inside," Alex murmurs, wrapping his legs around Neil's hips.

Neil uses his fingers first, slick digits pushing in and out with care. Alex just lies there and groans, his back arching off the mattress. He has always been somewhat on the vocal side in bed, and Neil doesn't know if this newfound restraint is indicative of a failing in his technique.

"Do you like this?" Neil hears himself ask, sounding just as awkward as he thought he might.

"Yeah." Alex bites his lower lip and moans, pushing his hips into Neil's hand, which has stilled between Alex's damp thighs. "But I want your cock."

So that's what Neil gives him. Neil is slow, gentle, deliberate, and Alex whines and ruts against him. Alex is too busy gripping at Neil's back to touch himself, so he lifts his hips enough to grind his erection against Neil's stomach. Neil kisses him as slowly as he fucks. He wants to pull apart this moment and savor it piece by piece, afraid of getting wrapped up in a whirl of sensation where everything is too much at once. This is a special moment, and Neil feels it should be relished.

Alex bucks his hips and squirms beneath Neil. The wet drag of his cock sets Neil's nerves ablaze, and he loses a bit of control, his thrusts growing harder and quicker. Alex gasps a happy noise around their wet kisses. His heels push at Neil's ass, trying to spur him impossibly deeper, and his fingers dig into Neil's back as he lets himself go. The possessive grip of Alex's inner heat pulls Neil over the edge, and he hears himself make a stunned groan.

Alex kisses him through the comedown, his mouth somehow hungrier post-orgasm. Neil settles against him, too blissed-out to care about the sticky mess between them. It's been too long since they've been together like this, and Neil feels parts of himself shifting and clicking back into place, like being with Alex has healed some internal injury.

"I'm sorry," Neil murmurs at Alex's cheek. He wants to say more but doesn't know where to begin.

Alex wraps his arms around him. "It's okay. You're here now."


	10. Chapter 10

Neil is, as it turns out, a perfect match. Alex's assumptions about the quality of Neil's kidney were correct, and Neil is shuffled through the necessary steps within a matter of days.

Alex and Charlene sit in the hospital waiting room while the transplant takes place. She wrings her hands, her leg jackhammering. Alex tries to read a magazine, but he can't focus, his attention pulled between Charlene's nervous gestures and his own worries about Neil and Justin. He is terrified one of them—or, dear God no, both—will fall under the anesthetic and never wake up.

Clearly, Charlene has the same fears.

"You were never gonna tell me, were you?" Alex wonders, setting the magazine aside to focus on her.

Her brow creases in confusion.

"About Justin. If none of this had ever happened, would you still have told me I had a son?"

Charlene shrugs and tries to look unfazed, but Alex sees the mild distress on her face. "I don't know. Maybe when he got older. But there didn't seem to be much of a point otherwise."

"So that's it? I'm just a sperm donor?"

"By the time I knew for sure that Justin was yours..." Charlene sighs, looking wistful. "I didn't think contacting you would be a good idea. I figured you'd rather just forget about what happened—about what I did to you." She corrects herself, as though hearing the dismissive quality of her words. "If it were me, I wouldn't want anything to do with the whole thing, y'know?"

Alex hears the subtext there.

"But if reopening that wound meant saving my son's life, I'm sorry, but I had to."

This callous disregard for his feelings doesn't bother him; if she put his comfort over her own son's life, Alex would be furious.

"I'm glad you did," Alex says. He can't help but notice Andrew isn't here. "Where's your husband?"

Charlene frowns a little at the term. "I called him and told him to come, but I guess he's too busy."

"Are you still gonna divorce him?"

"I don't know if I can be a single mother."

"Seems like you already are. From what Justin's told me, Andrew hasn't been around much."

"I know, but he makes more money than I do. I didn't have to work so much when we were together, so I could spend more time with Justin."

"Neil and I would be happy to help," Alex reminds her.

"I can't ask you to do that."

"But you can ask for a kidney? C'mon. Justin loves it at our place. And he likes us. He called me Dad the other day and I almost cried."

"Almost?"

"Okay, I did, and then he called me a wuss."

Charlene smiles.

"Being a dad was something I've wanted for a long time," Alex continues. "We never had kids 'cause Neil wasn't ready, but he is now."

"Justin's going to have three dads," Charlene says, thinking it over.

"He's a lucky kid."

Five minutes later, Andrew hurries into the waiting room. He spots Charlene and goes to her. "There you are. I was looking all over—" Then he sees Alex, and his hopeful, pleasant demeanor vanishes. "What's he doing here?" he demands of Charlene.

"Why are you worried? You know you can take him," Charlene says.

Andrew looks cowed. "It's not him I'm worried about. It's his psycho boyfriend."

"Neil is the donor," Alex says sweetly. "He'll be doped up on painkillers for a while, so you could probably take him too."

That stops Andrew, and his expression shifts into something resembling awe. "He's giving my son a kidney? Why would he do that? He doesn't even know Justin."

Alex wonders what the criteria ought to be for organ donation, then, in Andrew's opinion. Most donors don't even know the person receiving their organ due to patient confidentiality.

"Why are you doing this?" Charlene hisses. "Neil's saving Justin's life and you're questioning his intentions?"

"It just seems a little fishy, is all." Andrew glares at Alex.

Charlene cuts off Andrew's snotty attitude. "You're gonna have to learn to live with the fact of me and Alex, for Justin's sake. I'm sorry it happened, but in a way I'm not, because without it Justin would never have been born."

Andrew scowls, but it seems he isn't a complete douchebag, because he nods silently and sits beside his wife. Alex doesn't know if this means Andrew and Charlene will mend the gap between them, or if Andrew is more like Alex than they think, swallowing back his anger at her for Justin's sake.

The three of them sit together, this clumsy pastiche of a family missing its vital pieces.

* * *

Neil wakes up feeling as though he has traveled through time. The last thing he remembers is counting backwards from a hundred—he made it to ninety-five—and now he's awakened in a hospital room.

"You made it," Alex says, a smile of relief on his lips.

Even through the dreamlike haze of the anesthetic, Neil is stricken by how beautiful Alex is. If his head were clearer, he'd be cursing himself for almost letting their relationship fall apart.

"What about Justin?" Neil asks.

"He's doing great. Thanks to you." Alex grins, though he tries to fight it. "They'll keep an eye on him in case his body rejects the kidney, but prospects are good."

"That's great."

"Hopefully you can get some writing done while you're laid up. Maybe do it old-school with pen and paper 'til you get out of bed."

Neil shakes his head. "I think I'm gonna take a break from all that for a while. There are more important things in life. Things I want to experience..." He trails off, staring out the window.

"What about your contract? You were so worried—"

"I'll just retool The Masked Rider into a novel," Neil says with a shrug. "Justin can help me think of action scenes to break up the lack thereof."

Alex gasps. "But your artistic integrity!"

"It's like you said: I don't wanna miss out on being with my family because I spent all my time focused on work." Neil thinks for a moment. "And every creative person has at least one flop: either it was a good idea you didn't spend enough time polishing, or it wasn't good from its inception. But sometimes you just get lazy or deadlines creep up on you or you just have better things to do." He looks at Alex. "What's yours?"

Alex blinks, taking a moment to find the meaning of the question. "Oh, um... probably Signals." He laughs, and the sound of his laughter is so sweet and infectious it makes Neil join in too.

* * *

_2 weeks later..._

"You're still in bed?" Justin says with disbelief, finding Neil tangled in the sheets and quilt of his and Alex's king-size bed. Spread across Neil's lap and the rest of the bed are notebooks and loose-leaf papers and various magazines.

Neil looks up from his work and smiles. "You're young; you heal faster," he says, cordially. "You wanna help me with my book? I could use a fresh perspective."

"Me?" Justin glances at Alex, as though Neil might be requesting his help instead.

"Absolutely." Neil's smile reaches his eyes in that oh-so-rare and special way, and Alex swoons internally. "The way it is now, I think a reader might deem it too boring, so you get to help me think of ways to make it more exciting."

"We can add sharks!" Justin suggests, his expression bright. "Or dinosaurs!"

"Think Africa."

"Tigers?"

Neil smirks. "There we go."

"I'll let you two work," Alex says, backing out of the bedroom. He grabs the phone from the kitchen and heads out to the deck.

Outside, the sky is brilliantly blue, the summer heat hovering somewhere around tolerable and pleasant. Alex settles into a chair and dials Geddy.

Geddy answers after three rings. "Alex! How are Neil and Justin doing? 'M sorry I couldn't be there, but I promised Nancy a vacation years ago." Geddy and his family have been at his vacation home in New Brunswick, just outside of Fredericton, for the last few weeks. Alex called him at the beginning of Neil's donation and filled him in on the details.

"They're fine. I probably should've called sooner and let you know, huh?"

"Sometimes no news is good news." Geddy sighs contentedly; Alex imagines Geddy is lying out on the deck of his vacation home with a chilled bottle of wine, soaking in the countryside. "So how's fatherhood treating you?"

Alex laughs. "Best gig I ever had. No offense."

"I guess this is good practice for when you and Neil have one of your own."

"That's probably gonna be very different," Alex chuckles. "But Neil is open to it."

"Is he?" Geddy sounds just as stunned as Alex had been.

"He said he wanted to raise more kids with me, but in all fairness he was in the hospital, so I think the drugs were taking hold."

"He loves you," Geddy reminds him. "He'll probably do anything for you."

"Probably..." Alex thinks about that for a moment before shaking it off. "Enough about me. How's your vacation going? You do anything cool?"

"Y'know New Brunswick is home to the world's largest axe?"

"Oh, jeez, you guys really know how to party."

"Neil would think it's neat," Geddy says, pouting a little.

"And I'm willing to admit Neil can be really boring sometimes. What else have you guys gotten up to over there?"

"We may not know how to party, but we know how to relax. You and Neil should come by sometime, maybe bring Justin. The place is huge. John brought his family over last year when I bought the house."

Alex remembers; Geddy had extended the offer to him and Neil, but they declined, too caught up with other engagements.

"Oh!" Geddy says, as though remembering something. "Does John know about Neil and Justin and the whole donor thing?"

"Yeah, he stopped by the hospital the day before Neil was discharged," Alex says.

"So he knows Justin is your son?" Geddy sounds like he's thinking this over. "Do your parents know? Are you gonna tell them?"

Alex exhales, watching a sparrow jump from branch to branch. "Eventually, yeah. It'll be a hard sell, but I think they'll be happy to have a grandson."

"And maybe more in the future."

"Maybe."

They talk until the sun begins to sink, and the sky turns a swirl of pink and orange. "Shit," Alex grumbles, easing off of his reclined position on the couch. "You probably have stuff to do, huh?"

"No, I'm on vacation," Geddy laughs. "Adrian's already asleep, and Nancy's watching TV. We're not doing much of anything."

"Well, I should probably make dinner before it gets too late."

They say their goodbyes and hang up. Alex heads inside, replaces the phone on its charging stand. He heads upstairs to find Justin and Neil hard at work creating engaging action scenes for Neil's novel. Justin is scribbling something into a notebook, and he looks up when Alex appears in the doorway.

"Is my mom here?" Justin asks with a hint of disappointment, assuming Alex has intruded for this reason.

"No, I thought I'd start on dinner. Maybe you two could stay and eat with us?"

Justin's brow creases. "Me and Neil?"

"No, Neil lives here," Alex laughs. "I mean you and your mom. Give her a call and let her know she's invited."

Even Neil looks up now, taken aback by Alex's hospitality.

Justin looks wary, like he thinks this is some sort of trick. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously. But if you don't want to, I get it."

Justin thinks it over for a second before sliding off the bed. "Okay," he says, still suspicious as he leaves the room. "I'll call her."

Neil's smile is pleasant and endeared. "That was nice of you."

Alex shrugs like it's no big deal he's invited Charlene to dinner and into their home. "She's his mother. And sometimes you just have to let things go."

Neil cocks an eyebrow. "Kind of a big thing to 'let go' of."

Alex knows Neil's not trying to start an argument. "Yeah, maybe," he says with a nod. "But it was fifteen years ago. I wouldn't want to be ruined forever because of some stupid thing I did in my early twenties. I get the feeling she's had her share of sleepless nights over it, too."

Neil nods. He trusts Alex to make the right decisions for his own happiness, which Alex finds so damn alluring, especially in the wake of all that's happened.

"So, what're you in the mood for?" Alex asks, switching lanes to the subject of dinner.

"Well, you," Neil says with a smile, "but that's not going to be on the table for a while." The surgery has postponed Neil's (and possibly Alex's) sex life for a few weeks.

"We'll just have to get creative." Alex grins, moving toward the bed. "I think there's a couple things you could do for me that wouldn't be considered too strenuous." He pushes aside some papers and sits beside Neil, giving him a goofy smile.

Neil blushes, which Alex finds so goddamn cute on each rare occasion it happens. At a loss for words, he curls a hand around Alex's wrist. The warmth of Neil's touch, the familiar comfort Alex feared he'd lost, fills him with renewed love, and he's both pleased and amazed he still feels the butterflies after all these years.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be honest with you," Alex murmurs.

Neil's hand slides up Alex's arm with an achingly tender ascent. "You were scared. We're past it now. And hopefully that's the worst thing we'll have to deal with, so it's smooth sailing from here." He gives Alex an optimistic smile.

"Mom says she'll stay for dinner," Justin announces from the doorway.

Alex slides off the bed. "That's great! You wanna help?"

A look of disappointment flashes on Justin's face in the wake of being asked to help with chores. "Uh, I was sorta helping Neil with his book."

Neil sees Justin's ploy and blocks him at the pass. "Go on. I think I can manage on my own for a bit. You've given me quite a lot here," he says, motioning to the notebooks strewn across the bed. "We'll have more time to write later."

Alex tosses him an appreciative smile before corralling Justin out of the room. "Now that you're officially part of the family, you have to help with some of the grunt work."

"I didn't sign up for this," Justin whines half-heartedly.

"It's in the fine print."

"I guess I can't play the sick card anymore, huh?"

"Nope!"

"Aw, man."

As they descend the stairs, Alex feels as though his life's incomplete spaces have been filled.

* * *

" _When a father gives to his son, both laugh; when a son gives to his father, both cry."_  ~ William Shakespeare


End file.
